Bet Your Life
by chandy
Summary: Murdock goes undercover for a mission to expose a gambling ring, but is the Team betting with his life?
1. Chapter 1

CRACK! "Come on, come on. Go baby, go!" Murdock erupted upwards from the couch with a triumphant fist held high. "Yahoo! It's outta here!"

Hannibal and Face looked on from the kitchenette, the latter of the two anxiously gripping a granite countertop. "Aw, wouldya look at that, Hannibal?"

"Cute, isn't it?" Hannibal grinned over an unlit cigar as he side-stepped BA and his armful of snacks.

Face sent a protective glance around the pristine beach house. He had "gently persuaded" the landlord that he was indeed a distant cousin sent for by the owners to housesit while they were away for a European holiday. "Hardly! He's going to spill soda all over. And don't even THINK about lighting that cigar in here!"

Hannibal only chuckled mischievously as he struck a match. Face muttered unintelligible responses as he moved away from the gathering smoke and simultaneously towards the commotion.

BA shoved himself down on the sofa."Move over, sucka. And gimme that remote." He rudely snatched the remote from Murdock's hand and changed the channel. "Awright, that's what I'm talkin' 'bout."

"Aw, c'mon, BA. I was watching that. Itsa playoffs."

"And this is Monday night football, foo'." BA growled menacingly at the pilot who pouted in turn.

"Hannibal," Murdock appealed to their leader who merely shrugged disinterestedly. The shoulders of the leather jacket sagged with surrender. He rose without another word and sulkily made his way to the bedroom upstairs.

"Nice, BA," Face admonished with his hands on his hips, purposely placing his body between BA and the television. "You've managed to upset Murdock. Guess who gets to pick up the pieces - again?" Face threw his hands up in frustration realizing that he was being unceremoniously ignored. Trudging up the stairs, he paused outside of the bedroom door hearing the muffled sounds of a ballgame streaming through. Face knocked softly. Getting no response, he entered.

Murdock was sprawled prone on the bed, chin cradled loosely in his hand. His black Converse hightops danced in a tight rhythm in the air, the only hint of his agitation. Darkened eyes remained focused on the game, never acknowledging his friend.

'What is this? Ignore Face day,' Face thought to himself as he sat down on the bed next to Murdock. Hesitating for a moment, he finally placed a well-manicured hand on one of the pilot's broad shoulders. "You know BA didn't mean anything by it, buddy. He's just really serious about his football."

Brown eyes flickered, but remained glued to the screen. "Come on. What's so important about a baseball game anyway?"

"Itsa playoffs," Murdock muttered.

"I know, but is it worth getting all down about? Huh," Face prompted.

Murdock rolled onto his back, his lengthy frame stretching across the whole bed. He clicked the TV off. "It's over anyways."

The reserved quiet was unnerving. Face turned his scrutinizing stare on his friend, searching him for any indication of what was beneath the surface. He may have been the master of concealment, but Murdock could also play hide and seek with his psyche. "What aren't you saying, Murdock?"

In one graceful motion, Murdock suddenly jumped up from the bed. "Wanna go for a walk? It's a nice night. Let'sgoforawalk." The words running together and the abrupt change of subject were definitely a bad sign. Before Face could express his concern or offer a protest, Murdock was out the sliding glass doors and bounding down the steps that led to the beach.

The conman grudgingly followed, hugging himself as he noticed an uncharacteristic chill in the air for LA. "Murdock," he hissed. It was so dark that he could barely make out the tiger's head on the back of the leather jacket, nearly colliding with his friend in the process.

"Right here, muchacho." Murdock grinned at Face before he began to amble off again, hands deep in the pockets of his khakis.

"Obviously." Face trotted to keep up with Murdock's long strides through the uneven sand. The pair continued in silence until they reached the pier.

"Hey, Facey. Race ya to the end." His voice trailed off behind him as he was already running towards the end of the pier. Growing increasingly worried at Murdock's pendulum-like mood swings, he felt compelled to follow him out onto the pier.

When he finally caught up to Murdock, his breaths were coming in fast, short gasps. Murdock didn't even appear the slightest bit winded, seating himself on the wooden planks and dangling his feet over the edge. At least the moonlight provided more illumination out here. Face settled himself in next to Murdock, still catching his breath.

Murdock eyes scanned the dark horizon as he absent-mindedly picked up tiny pebbles off the pier and threw them into the ocean. Eyes locking onto something in the distance, he slowly began to speak. "You ever wanted to be something - someone - else when you were a kid?"

The question had seemingly come out of left field. Face badly attempted to hide his momentary surprise. "Well, yeah. What little boy didn't want to be a fireman, or - or -" Face stumbled over his words, unsure of where this line of conversation was leading. It didn't sound like one of Murdock's usual flights of fancy.

"I know I sure did." The statement came out somewhere between wistful and a scoff.

"But you became a pilot. Isn't that what you always wanted to do," Face questioned, still puzzled.

"Yeah, of course." Murdock bowed his head almost shamefully. "Well, not intially, I guess."

Face was taken aback at this newfound information. He had never imagined that Murdock had any aspirations beyond the sky. He was admittedly treading dangerous ground, but the words that left his mouth could not be stopped anymore than the waves that crashed against the shore. "So what did you want to be?"

Murdock's voice was soft, nearly a whisper. "I wanted to play ball. In the big leagues. More than anything in the world."

"What - what happened," Face stammered. "Why didn't you?"

A heavy sigh escaped from deep within. There was such a long pause that Face thought he might never receive a response, instead the queries would be lost on the wind as if they were never uttered. There was a visible, internal struggle as every ounce of pain long since buried came slowly bubbling up to the surface, reflected into the liquid brown pools. "Life. Life happened."

The Pandora's box was open. The lid had been sealed tight for so many years, but now the words frenetically tumbled out. "Mama got sick and died. Times got hard. Real hard. Gran and Gramps needed help, but they insisted I stay in school and keep playing ball on the team so's I could get a scholarship somewhere. Then the drought came. They didn't think I knew - didn't hear - how much trouble we were in. I took all kindsa work, but it still wasn't enough. We'd'a lost the farm and all if I didn't do what I did."

Murdock threw a sidelong glance to Face, gauging his reaction. For his part, he kept his face and his tone neutral. "Go on."

"I fudged some paperwork and went all in. I sold my soul and everythin' that went 'long with it to the Company. The recruiter - if you can call him that - was real slick-like. Said they'd teach me how to fly in exchange for a few missions." Murdock chuckled humorlessly. "Guess I wasn't the only one that lied. But I did learn a new skill that I absotively posilutely loved, did some work for 'em and got rewarded for my work with the Thunderbirds.

But then they found out 'bout my little indiscretion and figured that the boys overseas could use my services. When Gran and Gramps found out what I did and why, boy were they madder than a kicked over hornet's nest. Read me the riot act but good via the postal service. And they gave me one hellacious guilt trip. Sent me a letter reminding me about all those times mama spent with me playing ball and how happy she was watching me at my first tee-ball game. Told me how proud she was and how she wanted me to be the first one in the family to go to college on the 'count that I was so smart. Don't know how she knew if I was college material or not before my fifth birthday, but turns out I didn't do any of that. Boy did I feel like one big disappointment after that letter. But the next package that came had something really special. Apparently Gran and Gramps had held onto somethin' my mama wanted me to have for quite awhile. They sent it to me over in 'Nam to remind me of who I was, I guess."

Murdock tugged on the brim of his baseball cap. "The only piece of my mom I have left."

Face's mouth hung slack in a small 'o' shape. The implications of the preceding revelations left him utterly dumbfounded. He had never given any thought to the significance of his friend's wardrobe save for his leather jacket. He had just summed it up as one of Murdock's many quirks, never realizing it had a deeper, more personal reason. "Gee, Murdock. I don't know what to say. I had no idea."

Murdock merely nodded. The pair sat soundlessly for awhile, listening to the waves lap the shore. Finally, Murdock spoke up. "Do you believe you can miss something you never had?"

Face thought of his own past, and his yearning for the family he never had as a child. "Yeah. Yeah, I do."

"I was good. Real good, Faceman. I would've made one helluva pitcher if I woulda stuck with it. I miss it." Murdock's expression reflected the sorrow he felt.

Face put a comforting arm around his shoulders and squeezed. "Well, the timing couldn't be more ironic," Face said under his breath. "I know this isn't the same, but it might cheer you up a little. Hannibal's accepting a case that happens to involve baseball."

"Yeah, and I already know who gets to be on the inside."

"Don't do bitter. It doesn't become you. Besides, you know I'm more of a football guy. BA was going to be our best hope, but I think I can convince Hannibal otherwise," Face offered.

The smile started at his mouth and bloomed in his eyes. "Really?" Like a deflated balloon, his face fell again. "The season's almost over, though."

"Yeah, we have to work fast," Face admitted. "But we've got a contact that can get one of us - you - in, no problem."

The glint of excitement in Murdock's eyes was a welcome break from the preceding emotional confession. "Let's do it!"

"Hannibal, this is perfect! I had no idea Murdock used to play ball." Face's voice raised an octave with his excitement.

"I gotta admit, it does give us a certain advantage. What position did you say he played again?" Hannibal chewed thoughtfully on the stub of his cigar. His eyes narrowed with concentration.

"Pitcher."

"Perfect. Let's get him in here and I'll go over the case."

Face ran off to find Murdock and returned a few minutes later with the sleepy pilot in tow. He plopped down on the couch and propped his feet on the coffee table. "What's up, Colonel?"

Hannibal took a seat opposite Murdock. "Face here tells me you play ball?" Murdock bobbed his head in assent. "Okay. Our contacts are Lou Nealy, the assistant manager, and Paul Campanella, one of the players. They suspect a gambling ring running through the minor league system. And with their team in the playoffs, they're afraid the series'll be thrown."

Murdock leaned in, becoming more intrigued. "So what's my job?"

"You are going to be the pitcher that's been called up from double A. I want you to work with Lou and Paul to get the lowdown and find out who's behind this and exactly how far it reaches. Face here is going to be your interpreter."

"Interpreter," Murdock asked tentatively. He didn't think he was going to like the answer.

"Yeah, seeing as how you're deaf."

"Aww, Hannibal." Murdock stopped short of complaining. There were no negotiations when the Colonel was on the Jazz.

"Sure. It'll make a great cover. People will talk around you because they'll think you can't hear. Plus, it gets Face on the inside, too. Something this big, I don't want any of my men on the inside solo." Hannibal waved a glove-clad finger for emphasis.

"What are you and BA going to be doing?"

"Surveillance mostly, and backup if necessary. Now, tomorrow we spend brushing up on your skills. And the day after, we go in."

"And he winds up for the pitch," Murdock said doing an eerily accurate impersonation of Phil Rizutto. "He shakes off the first pitch." Murdock shook his head. "He-"

"Just throw the ball, Foo'." BA growled from behind the makeshift homeplate.

Murdock kicked his left leg high up in the air, knee parallel to his head, as he finished his windup. The ball left his hand in one fluid motion, rolling off his fingertips and sailing right over the heart of the plate. A large SMACK! was heard as the leather of the ball hit the worn leather of the glove. BA took his hand out of the glove and shook it, a pained expression on his face.

"Whattya make that at, BA," Hannibal called from the impromptu first base line.

BA's eyes widened at the reading on the radar gun. "I don't believe it, man. 88 mph."

"88? Man, I'm outta shape," Murdock commented.

"88," Face mouthed incredulously to Hannibal who looked vaguely impressed.

"Keep throwin', Cap'n." Hannibal walked over to where Face was standing. "You know, Lieutenant, this looks like this is going to be a piece of cake."

Face rolled his eyes. "Thanks. You just jinxed us, Hannibal. Murdock's going to be pretty convincing, isn't he?"

"So far, so good. How's his bat?" Face shrugged in response. "Let's find out. Hey, Murdock," he yelled. "Grab a bat and let's see what you can do with that stick."

Murdock dropped the baseball on the pitching rubber and threw his glove at Face as he ran past. He picked up a wooden Louiville slugger and gave it a few trial swings before stepping up to the plate. Meanwhile, BA had taken the mound.

The first pitch BA threw was high. The second pitch was close, but off just a hair. Murdock held up. "Good eye, Cap'n." The third pitch was right down the center. Murdock swung and connected solidly. The ball soared and fell just short of the tree line.

Hannibal's eyes never left the ball. "How far did we say those trees were, Face?"

"About 450 feet." Face's mouth was open in disbelief.

Hannibal smiled devilishly around his unlit cigar. "Well, I'll be damned. That's a home run ball in any park."


	2. Chapter 2

Face drove the Corvette down the boulevard, stealing glances at his companion who was sprawled in the passenger seat. BA and Hannibal followed in the van. "Now don't forget, you're supposed to be deaf so I do all the talking for both of us."

"How can I forget after the twenty-four hour crash course in American Sign Language?"

"Hey, I had to do it too, remember? And anyway," Face added as he pulled into a parking space outside of the stadium, "you get to play ball again. So it was all worth it."

Murdock warily agreed as he got out of the car and lazily stretched. They walked into the stadium, heading directly for the manager's office where they were to meet Lou and Paul. The pair made their way through a maze of hallways, their footsteps echoing off the concrete floors.

"I feel like a rat goin' for the cheese," Murdock joked.

"Quiet," Face admonished harshly. "The walls might have ears."

"Oh yeah? Do the ceilings have eyes?" Face shot Murdock a warning look that it wasn't time to play around. Murdock shrugged and stayed silent, but the amused glint in his eyes lingered..

The two men found themselves in front of a wooden door. On the glass 'Assistant Manager' was etched . Face knocked softly, unsure of how many other players may be milling around the park. A gravelly voice told them to come in.

Before them sat a fiftyish man, slightly pudgy, with salt and pepper hair. Beside him stood a 6'4" muscular man with bulging biceps and dark, curly hair. Lou extended his hand as did Paul.

After the introductions, the foursome got down to business. Lou was the first to speak. "We have reason to believe, as I'm sure you're aware, that some person or persons within this organization may being laying down bets. I have nothing against gambling per se, but when I suspect that a championship may be thrown because of it...," Lou trailed off.

Paul broke in. "A lot of these players need the bonus check from the championship to get through the off season, including myself. We don't make million dollar salaries like the guys in the majors. Plus, and most importantly, it gives the game I love a bad wrap."

Murdock looked at Face for permission to speak. He nodded his assent. "I'm also a big fan of the game and I'd hate to see good players suffer because of a few greedy bottom dwellers. We'll find these guys and silence their bats for good," Murdock assured.

"Good enough for me." Lou smiled at Paul who returned it. "Let's get you suited up and introduce you to the guys. Then we'll see what you can do on the mound."

Murdock eagerly followed Lou out of the office and into the locker room with Face and Paul close behind. The locker room reeked of earth and old sweat. The walls were lined with blue aluminum lockers, most sporting dents caused by the hands and feet of frustrated players. Equipment was strewn everywhere over the cheaply carpeted floor.

The team was preparing for batting practice as the foursome entered. The chattering roar continued as if they weren't even there.

"Okay guys, listen up!" Lou had to holler above the din. At his voice, the players immediately fell silent. "As you know, Hawkins is out for the rest of the season. Since we can't be short on pitching in the post-season, we called one of the players up from the farm. I'd like to introduce you all to our new pitcher. This here's HM Murdock. And the fella standing next to him is Templeton Peck."

Murdock opened his mouth as if to speak, but Face lightly elbowed him in the ribs to remind him to keep quiet. Luckily, no one noticed because they were all focused on Face's hands.

Murdock raised his hand in greeting and then began signing to Face. Face nodded in understanding. "He says 'Hi!'. He's glad to be here. And please call him Murdock."

"Aw, coach. He's deaf," moaned Jose. Judging by the mask dangling from his hand, he was the catcher. "How am I supposed to talk to him on the mound?"

"Watch what you say, Gonzalez. He can read lips," Lou warned. "Besides, baseball is mostly a game of hand signals. And we have Peck for the rest."

The atmosphere seemed to relax a bit. A few men came up and offered their hands which Murdock shook in return. Still, he could feel all eyes on him as he made his way to his assigned locker and began changing for practice. 'I wonder if they make all the new guys feel this welcome,' Murdock thought sarcastically.

Once the locker room was empty save for Murdock, Face, and Lou, Murdock dared to speak. "Nice bunch of guys."

"Give them time to warm up to you. Once they see what you can do on the mound, it'll get better," Lou reassured him with a clap on the back.

Murdock took the dirt mound, his foot planted firmly on the rubber stopper. He awaited the sign from Gonzalez. When he got what he was looking for, he pushed off the stopper with his right foot, The ball propelled forward, catching the outside corner of home plate at the last second. Gonzalez looked vaguely impressed. Every sign Gonzalez sent from behind the plate, Murdock answered with a perfectly placed pitch.

After thirty or so warmup pitches, Gonzalez walked the ball out to the hard packed dirt of the mound and placed it in Murdock's glove. "You're alright by me, man." Murdock just nodded and smiled in return, but inside his heart swelled with pride.

Jose went and joined the others in the locker room to shower up. Murdock stood aside and took it all in. He scouted out the exits and some of the other information that Hannibal had requested, but he was distracted by the excitement growing within him. He'd been waiting for a chance like this since he was a little boy, and case or no case, he wasn't going to waste it. Lost in his reverie, he didn't notice Face come up behind him until he was tapped on the shoulder. Murdock jerked back in response to the unexpected contact.

"Geez, Murdock. Get with it! I made contact with Hannibal. How's it going?"

Careful of the four or five remaining players on the field, Murdock signed his reply.

"Okay, I'll relay the information to Hannibal. Meanwhile, hang loose, okay?" Murdock nodded in agreement.

Murdock kept one eye on the group of guys still engrossed in conversation as they moved towards the dugout. He made up his mind to make his way into the dugout to see what he could find out.

He sauntered over the bench, appearing unaware of anyone else's presence by absent-mindedly fingering the stitches on the baseball. He kept his eyes trained on the ball, purposefully ignoring the others in hopes that they would continue their conversation.

"She was stacked, Dicky. You wouldn't believe it, man!"

"Aw, come on, Johnny. That's bullshit!"

"Swear to God," Johnny retorted.

"How much," Dicky snickered.

Johnny knocked his cap off. "Screw you! Anyways, money won't be an issue after next Friday."

"Shut up! Idiots," Randy Jacobs eyed Murdock suspiciously. At this point the object of his stare was down on his hands and knees 'searching' for a baseball that had rolled under the wooden bench.

"Aw, Randy. The guy can't hear us anyway." Randy made a move towards Murdock who tensed in anticipation. Daryl Lawson placed a hand on Randy's shoulder, holding him back. "Leave the poor guy alone. He's harmless."

The four men finally exited the field into the locker room. It took all his willpower, but Murdock stayed put so as not to arouse any further suspicions.

"Okay, Cap'n. Gimme what you got." Hannibal accepted a cigar from Face who subsequently disappeared into the kitchenette.

"So far I got my eye on four players. Johnny Birch is the shortstop. He seems like a lackey. So does Daryl Lawson, the left fielder." Murdock rubbed his aching shoulder. A loud CRASH resounded from the kitchen followed by a few choice words. "How's that ice coming, Faceman," Murdock smirked.

Face peered around the corner. "Oh ha ha ha ha. Very funny. Laugh again and I'll be getting ice for more than a sore shoulder."

"Can it, willya, Face?" Hannibal narrowed his eyes. "Continue, Captain."

"There are two others. Dicky Masterson is the center fielder. I think he's the brains of this operation. Then there's Randy Jacobs, a fellow pitcher. He's so big and mean, he makes the mudsucka look like Winnie the Pooh." BA growled at Murdock who winked at him and elicited yet another unpleasant noise.

Hannibal leaned back in his chair and lit his cigar, deep in thought. Face walked over to the couch and wrapped Murdock's shoulder with an ace wrap, ice strategically placed on the shoulder blade. Murdock squirmed at the abrupt change in temperature. Goose pimples popped up on his bare skin making the chest hairs inadvertently stand at attention.

"That's a good start, Murdock. At least we have something to go on. We've got our suspects, but we need the how and when precisely. You gotta work fast, though. Think you can handle it?" Hannibal chomped on his cigar.

Murdock grinned maniacally. He rubbed his hands together, building up to a German accent. "Leave everything to me, mein Colonel. Bwahahahaha!"

Hannibal chuckled. "Good. Now get some sleep. Big game tomorrow."

BA only shook his head at Face. "We in trouble now. The both on the Jazz."


	3. Chapter 3

"But sneaking out like this, quitting, you'll regret it for the rest of your life. Baseball is what gets inside you. It's what lights you up, you can't deny that... It's supposed to be hard. If it wasn't hard, everyone would do it. The hard... is what makes it great." ~ Tom Hanks in "A League of Their Own"

Signing is indicated by a '*'.

Murdock was just finishing tightening the laces on his cleats when Lou charged into the locker room. "Alright, settle down team. It goes without saying that today is a big game for us." Lou continued with his pep talk, but Murdock's attention was focused on Lawson, Birch, Jacobs, and Masterson. The felonious four, as Murdock liked to think of them, exchanged not-so-subtle knowing looks. Lou appeared in his line of sight trying to gain his attention. Remembering his role, he trained his eyes of the assistant manager's lips. "Murdock, you might sit this one out. If anything, I'll use you as a closer. You're the last man in the rotation." Murdock circled his thumb and forefinger and held them up. "Okay, guys. Let's go get 'em!"

Most of the players rushed out, creating a bottleneck at the tunnel leading to the field. In the confusion, Murdock disappeared into the showers to eavesdrop on the four players that lagged behind.

"Okay, we all know what to do," Masterson was the first to speak. "Whatever we do, we have to make sure that we get back the home field advantage. We play two games here and then away for three. Then we'll come back here when we lose and make the pickup -"

" - and then we'll have our retirement fund, gentlemen," Jacobs finished. Murdock had to stifle a snort of disgust at the evil grin in his voice.

"What are we waiting for? Let's go take one for the team," Birch snickered.

Pressed against the shower walls, Murdock waited until he heard their footsteps fade away before he emerged back into the locker room. 'Jerks,' he thought to himself. Murdock involuntarily stiffened as the fading footsteps changed direction. He came face to face with Masterson as he rounded the corner.

"What are you doing in here?" Murdock held up his glove trying to indicate that he forgot it. "Well, whatever freak. Hurry up and get on the field."

Murdock raised his eyebrows at the center fielder, but turned and walked out without engaging him. These guys were really starting to piss him off. They were willing to take away potential money from their teammates for their own personal gain, not to mention recreating a pockmark on America's pastime a la the Black Sox. He had learned something important, though. What was the 'pickup'? It didn't sound like merely a gambling ring. There seemed to be much more at stake. And was it really worth ruining the playoffs over?

The thoughts running around his head were cut off abruptly as he caught sight of the stadium. The seats were packed with eager fans, evident by the roar of the crowd. Bursts of light exploded as camera flashes went off in succession. Murdock felt a warmth flow through him like he had never experienced before. His anticipation turned into sheer joy as his mouth dropped open in wonderment. It was as magical as he had ever imagined it would be.

Face caught sight of his friend's expression and smiled inwardly from his seat in the dugout. It did his heart good to see Murdock so genuinely happy after all the pain he had experienced in his life. Sure, Murdock wore that goofy smile all the time, but it mostly stayed on the surface, never reaching all the way inside. But this was different. This was...contentment. Murdock's eyes finally locked onto Face. He made his way over and sat down next to him.

*What's new,* Face signed. Murdock responded in kind with all the new information that he learned only minutes before. *Well, this gets more interesting all the time.* Face threw a sidelong glance at Murdock and realized his attention now solely belonged to the start of the game. Face hit him, none too lightly, on the shoulder. *Don't have too much fun. We're here for a reason.*

It made him feel like a bully stealing candy from a little kid, bringing Murdock back down to Earth. That's partly why Face indulged most of Murdock's fantasies. He could never bear to dampen the child-like joy that radiated from his best friend. And this was certainly no fantasy. Murdock had made it heartbreakingly clear how important this was to him. Far be it from him to stand in the way of a dream, but he wanted Murdock to live to see that dream come to fruition. He'd be lying to himself if he said he wasn't concerned at Murdock's distraction surrounding this case. Distraction usually led to a Team member being captured or injured. And to say his radar was up was an understatement. Either way, he was in a catch-22.

Face tabled his fears as soon as the first pitch was thrown. The game was going rather quickly. Both teams went down 1-2-3 for the first five innings. It wasn't until the bottom of the sixth that a man even got on board. Birch came up to the plate and hit the first pitch, a rolling grounder that was easily turned for a double play. Face groaned. He'd seen more action in church. Despite the mundane nature of the game so far, Murdock beamed like a kid on Christmas.

Eventually, the pilot's enthusiasm leaked into Face as if by osmosis. Face caught himself clenching his fists in anticipation when the next batter took four straight balls for a walk. It was clear the opposing pitcher was tiring and the heart of the lineup was due up. There was a brief meeting on the mound as the catcher offered some words of encouraging strategy to his pitcher.

Paul Campanella stepped up to the plate. He took a few practice swings before stepping into the batter's box. "Ball," the umpire cried. Paul licked his lips in concentration. Murdock mimicked the action. The second pitch was a high fastball. Paul let loose with a swing that would have rivaled Mighty Casey's. The ball sailed effortlessly into the stands in right field. The players in the dugout collectively erupted in celebration. Paul was greeted at home plate with high-fives and slaps on the back.

The next inning the other team looked as if they might rally a comeback. They had scored a run and were threatening with the go-ahead run at the plate. Luckily, a high fly ball ended the inning.

Murdock was watching his team take their turns at bat when Lou Nealy stepped in front of him. "Start warming up." Murdock's eyes widened and he eagerly started for the bullpen, but Lou stopped him with a hand to the chest. "Think you can go two innings?" Murdock gave a thumbs up. "Good. Go to it! Oh, and good luck!" He slapped the pilot-turned-baseball-player on the shoulder for encouragement.

Face felt like a proud parent when Murdock finally took the field. He watched as his best friend picked up the rosin bag and gave it a few tosses, small white clouds of dust disappearing into the air. There was an intensity in Murdock's eyes as he studied the signals from Gonzalez. Face gripped the bench, digging his nails into the splintered wood, as he awaited Murdock's first pitch. He closed his eyes, unable to watch.

"Strike one," the umpire yelled. Face cheered silently.

The more Face watched, the more impressed he became. Where Murdock came up with all these talents - flying, mimicry, cooking, the ability to do complex math and learn any language fluently at the drop of a hat, and now baseball - was beyond him. Standing next to him made Face feel somehow inadequate despite his many skills. No, inadequate wasn't the right word. Average. Well, average was something Murdock was not.

His brief pity party of one was interrupted by another course of cheers coming from within the dugout. When he saw Murdock being congratulated, he realized that they must have won. Murdock's beaming grin affirmed this. As Murdock fought through the crowd to get to Face, the conman could not miss the four guys that his Teammate had pointed out. It wasn't hard - they were the only players who weren't celebrating.

He motioned for Murdock to stay with the rest of the team. The four were inching their way to the tunnel leading to the locker room, and Face had every intention of staying on their tail. He wanted Murdock to enjoy the glory, plus he didn't want him to risk blowing his cover so early in the series.

Face inched along the concrete hallway, relieved he had inadvertently chosen a soft-soled shoe. Eight pairs of cleats echoed loudly in comparison. Rounding a corner, their footsteps came to a halt. Face pressed himself up against the wall and remained motionless.

"That new guy's trouble, Dicky. We gotta do something or we won't be able to come back here and get the merchandise without being seen."

"Relax."

"Randy's right. We need to put some pressure on the guy. Maybe make sure he doesn't pitch so well next time." Face drew in a sharp breath.

"Back off, Johnny. You too, Randy. I'll take care of it. That does for you too, Daryl. Got it?"

Face crept off. He had to warn Murdock that they were now gunning for him. He also had to get to Hannibal and BA without being spotted.

"Hannibal, how can you sit there so calmly? We're on the verge of being discovered by these guys," Face anxiously paced.

"We've been in tight spots before, Lieutenant. Besides, Murdock's the one in the line of fire. What's your take on it, Captain?"

"Me? I think they're panicking. We're getting close. I don't wanna back off now and let those jerks demean the game. Plus, there's some good men on that team that deserve to have us follow through for 'em." Hannibal shrugged towards Face as if to say 'I told you'. "Now, if y'all will excuse me, I wanna shower up and hit the hay."

As Murdock moved towards the bedroom, Face leaned in close to Hannibal. "I'm worried he's getting distracted, Colonel. I think he's letting his emotions take over." He winced inwardly as he divulged this information to their leader. It felt as if it were a betrayal of some kind. But Face could no longer ignore what was becoming glaringly obvious to him. What it boiled down to, is he was worried for his friend's safety.

"Foo' been distracted before. Comes through when it counts, though," BA chimed in.

"BA's right. I've always trusted Murdock's judgement. You're usually his biggest supporter, Face. What changed?"

"Nothing! You know I've never had a problem with Murdock backing us up. But this time he's on the front line," 'and he's never as careful where it concerns himself,' Face finished in his head.

Hannibal sighed. It was in Face's nature to worry - especially about Murdock. Those two had an almost cosmic connection that was unmistakable. So if one felt the other was in trouble, it would have been foolish not to listen. "If it makes you feel any better, we'll plant some bugs on these guys. Maybe Murdock, too. Think you can whip something up, BA?"

"Be ready by tomorrow night."

Face had no choice but to back down seeing as how both Hannibal and BA were not overly concerned. But he could not shake the feeling that something wasn't right.

The following night's game was nearly a mirror image of the first. Only a run separated the two teams in the eighth, and Murdock was once again called into close. Neither Face nor Murdock missed the glares from Masterson, Jacobs, Birch, and Lawson that accompanied him to the mound. Face just prayed that BA had found a way into the locker room to plant the bugs.

Murdock's performance was even more impressive than the previous night. The pleased look on Lou's face corroborated his observation. Face envied how in control Murdock seemed of his lithe body, every graceful movement serving a purpose. A smile escaped as he watched his animated friend jump up and down on the mound after the last strike was thrown. The joy was short-lived however, when out of the corner of his eye he saw Jacobs slapping a bat into the palm of his hand. The sound was lost in the din of the cheering crowd. Face made an instant decision to stick close to Murdock as the lanky pilot stepped down into the dugout.

Face's plans were disrupted when the team rushed Murdock to congratulate him on the latest victory. The team was swept away like a tidal wave into the locker room causing Face to lose sight of the pilot. "Dammit," he swore under his breath. He had to change tactics. He decided his best course of action would be to make his way back to the van and listen in via the bugs that had hopefully been planted.

The conman arrived at the van gasping for air. He had closed the distance across the parking lot in record time. He threw open the van door with a sudden jerk only to be greeted by two guns pointing at him.

"Jesus, Face! Warn us next time you plan on gracing us with your presence," Hannibal chastised. BA just replaced the headphones on his ears, shaking his head.

"I lost him." Hannibal sent an annoyed glance his way. "It wasn't my fault..." BA held up a finger to signal him to be quiet. He unplugged the headphones from the receiver so they could all hear what was going down.

"You said you'd take care of it, Dicky." Jacobs voice emanated from the speakers.

"I will and I am."

"He's the starting pitcher day after tomorrow. If he wins, we're sunk."

"He won't be starting game four, don't worry. And I called Tony. The pickup point's been moved to the away field, same spot. The terms remain the same. We gotta lose."

"Whattya mean?"

"I mean, Randy, you guys fix it so he doesn't pitch. Got it?"

Evil laughter echoed back through the speakers. "Finally! We'll take care of that fruit loop once and for all, won't we boys?"

Face's visage was a mask of frozen horror tinged with smugness. He wanted so badly to say, 'I told ya so', but Hannibal beat him to it. "You were right, Face. You gotta get to Murdock before they do. We'll be right behind you if you need us."

Face wasted no time. He grabbed a .45 and stuffed it into the small of his back underneath the waistband of his pants. He sprinted across the parking lot, kicking up loose gravel as he went. All that kept going through Face's mind was 'Oh God. Please let me get there in time'.

Randy slammed Murdock into the lockers. "Alright, dummy. We warned you once." Murdock wore a look of confusion. He must have missed that first warning. "In our game, two strikes and you're out."

Murdock gulped and peered over Randy's shoulder at Johnny and Daryl. They were both slapping baseball bats into the palm of their hands, the menacing intention unmistakable. Randy kept a vice-like grip on his uniform with both hands, making escape difficult. Even if he could wrench out of his grasp he still had the other two, armed and dangerous, to contend with.

Johnny and Daryl advanced on him raising their bats above their heads simultaneously. Murdock struggled, but the more he fought the higher Randy's hands climbed until they were pushing against his throat. His air was quickly diminishing as the other two stepped closer, bats poised for striking. He had to think fast.

Author's notes: Sorry it's a little heavy on the baseball talk. Also, I don't know why it never reads my page breaks. I apologize for that headache. I hope it's not been too hard to follow without them.


	4. Chapter 4

Sorry for the delay. Between writer's block and illness, it took longer than I would've like. Hope you enjoy :)

Face raced against the tide of fans exiting the stadium. He elbowed his way through the throngs of people with a tightly controlled desperate panic. Each person he dodged delayed him that much further. Every second that ticked by with increasing rapidity counted. He could feel it in the very marrow of his bones. The cold steel pressed into the small of his back served as a reminder that urged him forward with haste.

Finally, he reached the gate, but was halted by the beefy hand of a security guard. The guard hooked his thumbs in his utility belt and stared down the frantic man. "No entrance without a pass."

"I'm an interpreter for one of the players. I need to get in there." Face fought to keep his voice even and plastered on his most winning smile. "See, in all the confusion we got separated. I thought he had come out already, but as it turns out he was still inside waiting on me. Isn't that funny?"

The guard squared his shoulders, clearly not seeing any humor or irony in the situation. "Don't make no difference. No pass, no entrance, buddy."

Face conjured up a mask of serenity on his countenance as he patted himself down. Inside, agitation grew exponentially as he came up empty handed time and time again. He thrust his hands into each pocket on a second pass, eventually finding the elusive object. Face shoved it under the guard's nose who reluctantly stepped aside with a wave of his hand.

"Yeah, thanks," Face muttered sarcastically, quickening his pace. By the time he approached the ramp he broke into a full-fledged run, dreading what he might - or might not - find.

* * *

><p>All Murdock could see in his increasingly graying vision were the words "Louisville Slugger" looming above his head. Randy's calloused hands squeezed tighter as he gasped for air, his face turning a dark shade of purple. As the bat arced downward, the choking sensation was replaced by a searing pain in his right shoulder as he felt the bone separate from the socket. His now-useless right arm hung limply against his side as he sagged to the floor, no longer supported by the hands holding him up by the throat.<p>

Gravity proved to be his friend as the bat left a large dent in the spot occupied by his head only moments before. The sound it elicited from the aluminum lockers echoed throughout the empty room. He tried to roll away before another attack could be initiated, but he was rudely interrupted by a cleat to the ribs.

Murdock bit down hard on the inside of his cheeks, drawing blood, to stifle the moan that wanted to escape. Any sound he made could blow his cover - if it wasn't blown already, judging from the beating he was receiving. Besides, he didn't want to give the bastards the satisfaction of knowing they got in a good shot.

When he had regained enough of his breath, he pushed himself up with his good arm. Before he could get his feet planted firmly beneath him, Randy grabbed him by the collar of his uniform and roughly pulled him up. Murdock felt the back of his head meet the locker with force. Momentarily dazed, his eyes refused to focus until his chin was yanked upwards so he had no choice but to look Randy in the eye.

"I want you to get this message loud and clear, dummy. Well, at least clear." Randy cackled at his own pathetic joke."You seeing my lips? Good. You ain't gonna pitch day after tomorrow. And maybe just for our own amusement, we'll fix it so you never pitch again. Me and the rest of these guys ain't gonna let you mess this up for us."

'What? What would I be messing up for you? Gimme details,' Murdock wanted to scream. But he couldn't. Not now. Not in the shape he was in, and not without backup. It would mean certain death. 'Where are you guys?'

His silent pleas went unanswered as he was driven into the locker again and again. Murdock squared his shoulders and arched his back so it would take the brunt of the locker's wrath, the pliable metal bending with each brutal contact. As abruptly as the slamming motion began, it ended. Murdock's eyes widened until there were only minuscule black dots centered in the whites of his eyes as understanding dawned on him.

Randy quickly side-stepped as the bat came swinging downward. Murdock feebly attempted to raise his arm, but it was his bad arm and he only managed to deflect a minimal amount of the blow to his temple. It proved too much for him and he crumpled to the floor like a ragdoll.

His vision swam in and out in a kaleidoscope of colors as he felt hands grope at him, seizing him and dragging him across the threadbare carpet. He slapped at his attackers weakly, but any movements he made were painful and ineffectual.

The rough material changed to cold, jagged stone as he was thrown haphazardly into a cubicle of some sort. The silence was broken by a quick squeaking sound, followed by water rushing into his mouth as his limbs were pinned to the floor. He spluttered the liquid out and tried to move out of the stream, but he could not muster up the energy to fight against his captors.

The hands mercifully disappeared, but the water kept coming. Unable to raise his head, he was slowly choking on the shower spray that was growing increasingly hotter by the second. Murdock struggled to raise his arm above his head to stop the torrent, but it was futile. All he could do was lay there and cling to consciousness, trying to discern what the voices were saying.

"That oughta take care of him. I'll take his place in the rotation and make sure we lose that game. Then we can collect on the loot as planned," Randy sneered.

"We just gonna leave him here?"

"Sure, why not? Nobody's around. Nobody saw nothing, got it?"

Johnny was starting to get nervous. "But ain't he gonna be able to finger us?"

"By the time he wakes up, we'll be on the road - the perfect alibi. And he sure as hell won't be talking," Randy laughed diabolically. "By the time we get figured out we'll be in Rio soaking up our retirement. Daryl, why don't you go call Tony and tell him game's on. Got it?"

"Got it." Daryl disappeared around the corner and made his way to Lou's office. He found it empty as he knew he would. He picked up the phone and dialed long distance.

* * *

><p>Face crept down each darkened hallway, checking out every shadow cast by the meager overhead lighting. He had to deliberately slow himself down to not risk putting Murdock in any more danger. The going was torturously slow.<p>

Off in the distance, he could hear a voice echoing back to him. He continued forward until he could make out a sliver of light coming from Lou's office. There was no need to try to figure out who the voice belonged to as it identified itself.

"Yeah, this is Daryl. Let me speak to Tony DiPuccio." There was a long pause as the person on the other end was doing as ordered. "Tony, hey man. Yeah, that little problem's been taken care of."

Face drew in a sharp breath and held it. It was pretty clear what - or whom - he was alluding to. The gnawing worry in his gut was being fed. "Randy says game's on. Drop the loot like you said and we'll take care of the rest." Face made a mental note of all that was being said, but subconsciously all he could think about was getting to Murdock. "Day after tomorrow we'll all be rich, man. Later."

Daryl hung up the phone and took a sharp turn into the hallway without looking. Face pressed himself against the wall around the corner, gun drawn. The conman needn't have worried. The open door and lack of attention to any stray onlookers just showed their overconfidence which would only help the Team in shutting them down. Face was careful regardless. He waited until the footsteps had fully retreated before he started forward.

Coming to the end of the long maze, he reached the locker room. He stood listening for any signs of the other three. There were no voices or shuffling feet, but there was another familiar sound he couldn't quite discern. As he walked closer, he could just make out the sound of running water which was curious since all the other players had long since vacated the building save for...

Realization hit Face like a ton of bricks and he sprinted towards the showers. The limp form of his friend sprawled out, bloodied and soaked, under the still-running shower sent a dagger through his heart. "Oh, God. Murdock. Murdock. Murdock," he called out like some curious mantra as he raced forward and fiercely turned the knobs to the off position.

The usually expressive eyes were only open to slits, and staring off into nothing in the distance. Face shoved two fingers at Murdock's neck, only slightly relieved to feel a weak pulse. He put his head on his friend's chest and immediately noticed the lack of breaths. "Nonononono. C'mon, Murdock. Don't do this to me."

Face straddled Murdock and placed one hand on top of the other. He pumped as hard as he could and repeated the action several times unsuccessfully. "C'mon, Murdock. C'mon, buddy. It's not your time. Please God." Face summoned all his Catholic upbringing and mixed prayers with pleas. "You still gotta make it to the big leagues, remember?"

All of his weight was behind the repetitive motion. His muscles were trembling with the strain, but he could not, would not give up. Finally, after an eternity, his efforts were rewarded with an explosion of water in the face. It would have been comical if not for the gravity of the situation.

Murdock took two gasping breaths, shuddered, and then returned to a more normal, yet shallow breathing pattern. His eyes remained barely open and unseeing.

Face moved from atop Murdock and kneeled to the side of him, not even noticing that he was nearly as soaked as his friend. "Hey, buddy. Are you with me? C'mon, open your eyes, Murdock." He gripped Murdock's hand in his own and was puzzled to feel uneven movement there.

Face smiled to himself as he realized Murdock was trying to sign his answer, still going on automatic. "Hey, it's just us. Talk to me."

"Facey?" The one word was so soft and fragile, yet so beautiful to his ears.

"Yeah, Murdock?"

"Everybody outta the pool. Don't wanna swim no more, 'kay?"

"You got it, buddy." Face grabbed some towels and dried the pilot off the best he could, but it couldn't completely abate the shivering. "Do you feel like you can sit up and move to the bench so we can get you into some dry clothes?"

Murdock nodded almost imperceptibly so Face moved to help him up. Murdock groaned in pain as Face inadvertently tugged on his injured shoulder. Face readjusted and just managed to get him propped up against the wall.

Getting Murdock as far as the bench proved to be a more difficult task than either anticipated. The pilot's face was contorted with pain as Face eased him down into a sitting position. "Forget the dry clothes, Facey. At this rate we'll still be here next season."

"Yeah, you're probably right. Guess we oughta call Hannibal and BA."

* * *

><p>"Easy, Captain." Hannibal gently lowered the thin and battered man onto the bed. When his Lieutenant first sent out the distress call, he and BA immediately responded. But neither man was prepared for the state the pilot was in. BA, for all his protestations to the contrary, cared a great deal for his crazy friend. He wordlessly scooped him up over his shoulder and navigated the hallways, not caring that water was now dripping off his gold. When the quartet reached the van, he gingerly placed his friend into the seat giving a small wince in sympathy at Murdock's gasp of pain.<p>

BA wore the same expression now as Hannibal checked over the other man. The angry bruising spread over his torso like a giant, purple hand. A little pressure from the Colonel's gloved hand elicited a new hiss of pain. Clearly, one of the casualties were a few ribs. The black leather-clad hands moved upwards until they reached the temple. "Pretty nasty bump you got there."

"Ahm okay. Just tired," Murdock mumbled.

"Stay with me, Captain." Murdock swayed a little, but stayed upright at the continued use of rank.

The hands continued to probe, but the most obvious injury had yet to be taken care of. Hannibal's tight-lipped glance at Murdock conveyed his intention. Face and BA exchanged worried looks, and Face stepped forward at the unspoken communication between the four men.

Hannibal braced a hand against Murdock's shoulder and gave a curt nod. "On the count of three. One. Two. Three." On 'three' he yanked as hard as he could until he felt the joint slip back into socket. Murdock yelped and suddenly slumped over. Face was in position to catch him before he hit the floor, and slowly laid him back onto the bed.

"He in pretty rough shape, Hannibal," BA commented.

"Yeah, they worked him over good," Hannibal agreed. "Did you guys find out anything?"

"From what Murdock told me and what I overheard, they wanted him out of the picture so they'd make sure they'd lose Thursday." Face sighed as his eyes moved over his friend's injuries.

"Did a good job of it, too."

"Yep. Crazyman can't pitch with his arm and ribs all busted up like that," BA lamented.

Hannibal turned his attention away from his patient for a moment. "It's not his arm and ribs I'm worried about, BA."

"It's not?"

"No. That knock to his head was pretty hard. I can't be sure, but there might be a fracture involved."

"A skull fracture," Face exclaimed, alarmed. "Shouldn't we be getting him to a hospital then?"

Hannibal shook his head. "Too risky at this point. He needs to be watched very closely. We need to wake him up every hour and make sure he's okay."

"Crazyman ain't never been okay."

"This is no time for jokes," Face said sharply. "Murdock could be hurt really bad here."

"Ain't joking."

"Cool it guys. We've got to figure out what's going on - not only for our clients, but now it's personal."

A soft moan arose from the bed. All three men turned toward the pitiful sound. Face knelt by the side of the bed. "Murdock." When there was no response, he tried again. "Murdock, time to wake up."

"Five more minutes, Doc."

"If you don't wake up, sucka, Ima knock you out myself," BA threatened. Murdock responded with fluttering lashes.

"Nice BA." Hannibal paused to let Murdock's eyes come back into focus. "Murdock, did those creeps say anything while they were working you over? Did you hear anything that might've tipped their hand?"

"Not much. Somethin' 'bout a drop and it being moved to the away field. They didn't get specific, though." Murdock scrunched up his face trying to remember anything else through the haze of his mind. "Can't come up with nothin' else, Colonel. Sorry."

Hannibal patted Murdock on his uninjured shoulder. "It's okay. You did good. Rest now, Captain."

"Mmmkay. Yessir." The southern drawl was deteriorating into slurring. Face gave their leader a worried look that was returned.

"How about you, Lieutenant? Did you overhear anything interesting?"

"Same as Murdock. But Daryl was talking to some guy named Tony DiPuccio. He made a big deal about how rich this drop was going to make them."

"DiPuccio? Dipuccio? Isn't that the name of the bookie that got sent up river for not covering bets and turned evidence?" Face and BA merely shrugged. The name didn't ring any bells with them, but there was a quiet 'yep' that came from the bed beside them.

"Alright, I'll check this guy out," Hannibal continued. "Face, you get with Lou and get a list of all the towns this team visited during the season. See if anything hinky went down while they happened to be in the neighborhood."

"Like what?"

"Anything. I'd bet there was an increase in crime while our friends here were in each town. See if you can establish a pattern."

"Got it." Face spared a worried glance at his friend. "What about Murdock?"

"BA will look after him, won't you?"

"Me?" The question came out angry, but the concern was evident in his eyes.

"Sure. You can do it, BA," Hannibal reassured him. "Just remember neuro checks every hour. Call us if there's any change. We'll meet back here at 0900."

Face and Hannibal gathered up a few necessities and exited the room together, but not before giving one last look to the unnaturally still form on the bed. The door clicked shut behind them and BA was left alone with his patient.

He stared down at the man who seemed to be swallowed by the sheets. His pale white skin made the bruises stand out that much more. Pain etched his features and his breaths came in quick, shallow pants.

A wave of overprotectiveness washed over BA, and he squeezed his eyes shut. He never could stand to see the Fool hurt and in pain. BA had a momentary flashback to the cave, Murdock's body draped over his own for support. BA had been left to watch over the Fool then, and he almost didn't make it. The more he tried to block out that thought, the more it ran through his head. He didn't know how long he stood there like that, but Murdock's panicky voice broke him out of his reverie. "BA, I think I'm gonna be sick!"


	5. Chapter 5

The library was surprisingly easy to break into in the dead of night. An empty parking lot and an absence of any security cameras aided his mission. All Face had to do after he bypassed the alarm system was work his magic with his lock picks.

Once inside the facility, he made short order of finding the reference materials. What he needed would be in that general vicinity. When he found the machines, he powered them on and waited in the eery blue glow for them to warm up.

Earlier he had obtained from Lou a complete list of all the team's games. The list included all towns, dates, and travel accommodations. He sat in front of the microfiche, painstakingly matching each date and corresponding town and combing through all the cross referenced news items.

So far, he was striking out and only finding minute parallel events. He rubbed a hand across his bleary eyes trying to maintain focus. Hannibal was convinced that this research would unlock the key to this mystery, and Face was inclined to agree. The Colonel's feelings about where the bread crumb trails led were rarely, if ever, wrong. So Face plodded on, hoping his efforts weren't in vain.

He stole a glance at his watch. He'd been at this for several hours and had yet to turn up anything concrete. Perhaps, he'd been going about it all wrong. He changed tactics and combed through the news items searching for a release date for the alleged ringleader of this operation - Tony Dipuccio. Once he found the date, he realized his mistake. Tony had been released in June, and since he was proceeding down Lou's list in chronological order, he hadn't yet hit upon the corresponding dates.

Face advanced the microfiche. "Now we're getting somewhere."

It was a tedious process, researching each town's newspapers on each corresponding date. But it was beginning to pay off. The bright blue eyes moved rapidly back and forth scanning line by line until he hit paydirt. A pattern emerged that was too coincidental to ignore. Buried deep within one of the stories was a particularly incriminating piece of information.

"Bingo," Face exclaimed.

* * *

><p>Hannibal studied his appearance in the rearview mirror. He had decided one of his previous alter egos, 'Clarence Wickersham III', would adequately serve his purposes. Satisfied with his disguise, he took the briefcase out of the backseat of the Corvette and made his way towards the old warehouse.<p>

The previous four hours had been spent going from the seedy bars downtown to the dive bars around the race track. In each location, he had engaged as many patrons as he could in some side action. He had them gambling on everything from darts to cards to peanut throwing in the interest of digging up information on the infamous bookie.

Eventually his persistence paid off. In a drunken stupor, one patron had let it slip that he knew a guy that ran an after hours operation, but it was for high rollers only. Too rich for his blood, he had said. Hannibal discreetly placed a wad of cash on the bar and subtly bragged about how good business had been, and how he was looking for an 'investment opportunity'.

The drunk's eyes widened at all the green spread before him. He tentatively reached for it, but Hannibal drew it back at the last second. "Ah-ah. Help me increase my investment returns and you'll get a cut of the profits."

The bloodshot eyes glinted with greed, and he predictably spilled all he knew. That was how Hannibal had wound up cutting through a damp alley on the way to a darkened, run-down warehouse in the middle of the night.

His boot heels clacked off the concrete and echoed off the walls. Normally, such a loud approach would have made him cringe, but he wasn't concerned with the element of surprise tonight. Hannibal wanted whoever was inside to know that he was coming.

As he rapped on the door, he could hear guns being cocked. "Who is it? What do you want?"

"Now is that any way to greet a guest? My name is Clarence Wickersham the III. And I hear this here's a place that men with the lettuce are welcome. Don't look to be true to me, though."

The rickety wooden door opened a slit before he was grabbed by the lapel and yanked inside. "State your business."

"Oh, just looking to make a friendly wager." Hannibal opened up the briefcase and showed the two goons just what he had to offer. Deciding they liked what they saw they began patting him down. "Okay, bring him to the boss."

He was rushed into another office where a diminutive man with oily black hair sat behind a desk. He was a bit older, but he matched the photos perfectly. It was definitely Tony DiPuccio. "What's this?"

"Man says he's got some dough to spend." The bigger of the two guards snatched the briefcase and lay it open on the desk. The man behind it raised his eyebrows approvingly.

"So...how would you like to spend it?"

Hannibal gave the faintest smirk. He knew he had him hooked now. "Oh, I've always had a penchant for investing in sports teams myself. I gotta admit, I've always had a soft spot in my heart for the all-American game of baseball."

"I think we can accommodate your interests." Tony fingered the money in the briefcase. "With the odds, or...against the odds?"

"I always bet on a winning team," Hannibal grinned around his cigar.

Tony grinned, too. It was the smug look of a man who thought he had a secret that no one knew about. He handed 'Clarence' a slip of paper. "Here's your marker. If you default, I'll send Rico there to bend your knees backwards. Nice doing business with you. Now get out."

"Now is that anyway to treat a business associate?" Hannibal played the part of the indignant businessman, but inside he was relishing his victory. Tony had played right into his hand. Now all they had to so was let the chips fall where they way. Either way, the trap was laid.

* * *

><p>The light in the bathroom was glaringly bright after the semidarkness of the motel room. BA let his eyes adjust as much as he could before he began his next round of cleanup. He took the wastebasket over to the bathtub and swished some water around, and then dumped the contents into the toilet. Flushing, he turned to the sink and scrubbed - first the wastebasket, then his hands.<p>

Bowing his head, BA wrapped his massive hands around the edges of the countertop and gave a squeeze. Sighing, he raised his head and stared at his reflection. The frown lines were always deeper when he has worried, and to say he was worried was a gargantuan understatement. How did things go so badly?

He hoped Hannibal and Face were faring better than his other teammate lying in the next room. Not to say it didn't make him a little uneasy to think of each of them off on their own, but the primary concern that consumed all his thoughts and fears was the uncertainty of his friend's health.

For the moment, he was sleeping fitfully after his latest round of vomiting, but BA would have to wake him again soon. The first time was rather uneventful. Murdock was woozy, albeit a little uncooperative. Once BA turned down the lights, the pilot opened his eyes as requested and muttered his responses in a barely audible voice. Even though BA had to lean in close to hear them, he could make them out enough to know they made sense - at least, as much sense as the Crazy Fool ever made.

The second time had been more difficult. Merely calling out the pilot's name was not enough to rouse him. It took a fair amount of shaking to elicit even the smallest response, but it wasn't enough to satisfy BA. BA lightly tapped the palm of his hand against Murdock's cheek, not expecting the violent reaction he would receive.

Murdock's eyes flew open at the contact and he sat bolt upright, startling the bigger man. Foreign words erupted from his mouth. BA wasn't much of a communicator and never bothered to learn but a few phrases of Vietnamese, unlike his friend who spoke it fluently. He didn't have to know the language though to hear the fear-tinged, angry tone in Murdock's voice. "Hey, man. It's BA. Murdock?"

Murdock's head turned at his name, but BA was disturbed to see the brown eyes unfocused, looking at him and through him simultaneously. He reached out a hand to steady the trembling man. It was the wrong move.

Murdock sprang up from the bed. His feet got tangled up in the blankets as he stumbled towards the wall. BA wrapped his arms around the pilot's torso before he could hit the ground possibly injuring himself further. The pressure his arms placed on his friend's ribs was enough to cause a yelp of pain.

The guilt rose up as BA gently lowered his friend to the ground and leaned him up against the mattress, but it was replaced by relief when those deep brown eyes focused directly on him. The confusion melted away briefly then reemerged, but there was more clarity behind it now. "You okay, man?"

Murdock took several fast, shallow breaths trying to take stock of himself. He nodded, trying to reassure BA that everything was fine. His face scrunched up in pain betraying his true state.

"Just rest here a minute, Crazyman. Then we'll get ya back ta bed."

Murdock kept his eyes squeezed shut and shook his head. The nausea was reasserting itself. "No. Bathroom."

BA understood the need his friend was trying to convey, but there was no sense in him stressing out his body any more than it needed to be. "Got a garbage can right here, fool. Don't be strainin' yourself."

"Bathroom. Now," Murdock insisted.

BA shook his head at Murdock's stubbornness. There wasn't a lot of time for argument so he draped Murdock's uninjured arm around his shoulders, and stood up bearing most of the weight. The going was painstakingly slow. They barely made it before Murdock collapsed in front of the toilet and fumbled the lid open.

The retching was interspersed with moans of misery. Each heave sent shockwaves of pain through his ribs and his head. BA winced in sympathy as his friend let his head rest on his arm, lacking the energy to even hold his head up. BA felt the anger rising up to cover the panic. Murdock seemed to be getting worse and he felt completely helpless.

BA did the only thing he knew to do for him. He wet a cloth with cold water and pressed it to the back of his friend's neck. When the heaving seemed to slow, he filled a cup and tilted the cool liquid to his lips. "Sip it slow. Don't want you gettin' sick all over again."

Murdock put a hand up to glass to indicate he was finished. He tried to raise his upper body off the toilet, but he was shaking so badly he couldn't quite manage it. BA scooped him up before he could even protest, and carried him back to the bed.

BA was almost done tucking the blankets back around his friend when he felt a weak grip on his arm. "Thanks, BA." Murdock's speech was slow and the southern drawl was more pronounced which only added to BA's fears.

"Anytime, fool. Jus' get some rest now." BA gave him a small smirk that turned into a scowl until Murdock obediently closed his eyes.

It wasn't long before this last time when he had actually woken up on his own with the burning need to be sick again. BA shoved the wastebasket against the bed just in time. There was very little left to lose except the water he had previously drank. If this kept up, Murdock would become severely dehydrated.

BA wished Hannibal or Face would return soon. Both of them were more medically trained than he was. Put any machine in front of him and he could fix it, but people were a different story. BA sighed as he checked the clock above the door, gearing himself up for another round.

* * *

><p>Face stepped out of the shadows as Hannibal whipped the Corvette towards the curb. Hannibal leaned over and popped open the passenger door. Face gave him a knowing look. "What," Hannibal asked innocently.<p>

"Do you mind?"

"Not at all. Hop in, Lieutenant." Hannibal gave a wicked grin, the cigar jutting out almost tauntingly..

Face produced the file from inside his jacket. Hannibal eyed it hungrily. "Like I said, I'm driving." Face smiled in victory as he handed over the file and sat behind the wheel.

Hannibal thumbed through the pages. "So, gimme the skinny. Dig up anything interesting?"

"Nothing much. Just a little grand larceny." Face was being purposefully coy.

Hannibal raised his eyebrows at his second-in-command. "Grand larceny?"

"Yep. Seems that every time the home team was away, a jewelry store coincidently got knocked over in the same town they were playing in. And here's the best part." Face paused for dramatic effect, a self-satisfied expression gracing his perfect features. "They only lifted the diamonds. Everything else was left behind."

"Gold?"

"Nope."

"Pearls?"

"Still in their pretty little cases."

"Emeralds? Rubies?"

"Untouched. I'm telling ya, Hannibal...not one thing was taken except diamonds. Even the cash was left behind."

Hannibal frowned. "That's peculiar. Cash is less traceable. Gold is easy to melt down. Why diamonds and only diamonds?"

Face shrugged. "From a monetary standpoint they have the highest market value."

Hannibal pondered this as Face pulled into the motel parking lot. "They have to have a buyer lined up. A buyer would dictate which type of item he was looking for, and they would supply only what was requested."

"Makes sense," Face agreed.

"Now, we know which lackeys are holding up the stores, but who is the buyer?"

"Tony," Face guessed.

"No, he's gotta be the middleman. He was only too happy to accept the bet I laid down. Considering the odds, you'd think he would've refused it. Theoretically, he stands to lose a bundle. The betting has to be the cover for this whole operation which means he has to have a backer," Hannibal reasoned.

Face turned the car off and took the keys out of the ignition. "Yeah, but who?"

"I don't know yet. We're going to have to catch up to the team today and see if we can find any leads."

"Do you think Murdock is well enough to travel?"

"I hope so. Let's go find out."

* * *

><p>BA jumped up and moved behind the door as he saw the doorknob begin to twist. He drew his gun and kept it at shoulder level. He let out a rush of air in relief as he saw his other two teammates walk through the door. "Thought you guys weren't gonna be back for a coupla hours."<p>

"We got done early." Hannibal turned quickly to the still form on the bed. "How's our patient?"

"Not too good, man. Been sick all night."

Hannibal sat down on the edge of the bed. Murdock didn't stir as his weight shifted the mattress. He studied the dark circles painted on the pale skin. "Has he been waking up okay? Any confusion?"

"Been a little tough at times, but eventually got him 'round. He been a little out of it." BA didn't elaborate on the one particular incidence. It was hard to tell if it was the results of the concussion, or what was the nightly routine. BA was ashamed to admit to himself that he hadn't been around Murdock enough at night to know. Usually, Face bunked with him. Sometimes Hannibal, but rarely him. Normal for Murdock was not normal for everybody else.

Approaching the bed, Face took in the disheveled blankets and the towels strewn across the floor. "Murdock," he called out softly, needing reassurance that his friend was going to be okay. When there was no response, he repeated himself, more loudly this time. The rising panic within was beaten back down when the eyes opened blearily.

The eyes blinked sleepily, squinting against the dim light. "Face?"

There was a collective sigh of relief upon the immediate recognition of the conman. BA was also pleased to note that the slur was less pronounced.

"Howya feeling, Captain?"

"Like Babe Ruth used my head for batting practice - with my body as the bat."

Murdock's colorful description was welcome to all their ears. He was sounding more like his old self. "I'll say. You had us really worried there, buddy."

"Sorry 'bout that, Faceman."

"No, no, no. You have nothing to be sorry about. I'm the one who's sorry. If I woulda gotten there sooner..."

Murdock locked his eyes onto Face's and commanded his attention with one look. "There was nothing you coulda done. Those guys were itchin' for a poundin'. It was gonna happen sooner or later." He tried to push himself up, but forgetting his injuries, put pressure on his shoulder. He collapsed back against the pillows.

"Take it easy, Cap'n. You've had a rough night."

Murdock scoffed. "Not as rough as BA."

"Ain't nothing wrong wit me. Worry 'bout yourself, Crazyman."

"What about you two? What've you been up to all night?"

Hannibal looked like the cat that swallowed the canary. "I thought you'd never ask."

Both Face and Hannibal recounted the previous night and the preceding conversation in the car. They pulled the file out to show the others as they laid out their theories. Murdock picked it up and attempted to read some of the articles. The words were alarmingly jumbling together. He quietly closed it, and put it aside.

"What I don't get is, if they got all these diamonds, where are they?"

"Good question, BA. To answer it we're going to have to meet up with the ball team and unearth this slug. He'll lead us to the diamonds." Hannibal spared a glance at his pilot who was now reclining back with his eyes shut. The Colonel's keen observation skills did not miss the fact that Murdock had barely been able to look at the file. "Do you think you're up to traveling, Murdock?"

The use of his name caused his eyes to snap back open. "Not just traveling. I'm gonna play."

"You need to take it easy, fool. Been sick all night. Can't even lean on your arm, ribs all busted up, and fool think he going out there to pitch," BA's angry tone covered his fear that his friend would put himself in harm's way again.

"Today's an off day. I'll have another day to rest," Murdock pleaded his case.

"C'mon, Murdock. I don't think it's a good idea. Forget the physical problems. Those guys already went a few rounds with you. You want to take that chance again?" Face tried to rationalize with his friend, but he should have known he was wasting his breath. Once Murdock got an idea in his head, he was as bad as Hannibal on The Jazz.

"Some more sleep, some tape around the ole ribs, and one of those shots and I'll be good to go." Murdock set his jaw. "I'm pitching and that's all there is to it."

Hannibal took a moment to study each of his men. He could read the frustration of BA, the near-panic of Face, and finally, the fierce determination of Murdock. He would not be denied. "Alright. It's settled then. Get some sleep. We leave in three hours."


	6. Chapter 6

The van was packed up and ready to go mid-morning by BA standards. There was a five hour drive ahead of them so Face 'borrowed' a couple pillows and a blanket from the motel so Murdock could be settled in as comfortably as possible. That wasn't saying much. Although he was more coherent than the night before, every position he shifted to in his seat behind BA caused some sort of pain.

Hannibal exchanged a worried look with his second-in-command. He had green-lighted this excursion and knew it was necessary to ensnare their targets, but he was regretting the timing. Murdock really needed several more days of rest before he was up and around, let alone pitching and chasing after bad guys.

The unnatural silence stretched out like the road before them. Murdock was simply too worn out and in too much agony to purposefully instigate BA with any of his road games which caused BA to split his attention between the road and the rearview mirror. Face, however, kept his full attention on Murdock while Hannibal was lost in his thoughts. The disconcerting quiet was finally broken by Hannibal. "It's not too late to scrap this mission and turn back."

"No!" Murdock's sharp objection caught them all unaware.

"You're hurt, Murdock. This thing just keeps getting bigger and bigger. Maybe too big. We'd be taking an awful risk." Hannibal chewed thoughtfully on his cigar, gauging Murdock's reaction.

"No," Murdock said more softly this time. "We've never abandoned a mission before, and we're not gonna start now. Your plans may be unorthodox, but they always work out in the end. I have faith in ya, Colonel."

The soft smile on his face was reassuring enough for his best friend to chime in. "Okay."

"Okay?" Hannibal couldn't hide his astonishment at Face's change of heart.

"Yeah, okay." Face looked mildly put-off when all eyes turned on him. "What? This is obviously very important to Murdock. And I, for one, am not going to stand in the way of that - no matter what my reservations may be." Even though the movement was halting and slow, when Murdock's hand reached his and gave a slight squeeze, Face knew he had said the right thing.

"I can't believe I'm sayin' this, but Foo's right. We ain't never quit cuz we ain't quitters." BA winked in the rearview mirror and Murdock returned his gesture with a wink of his own.

"Alright then. Why don't you pull over at the next stop, BA? We'll take a break and stretch. That'll give me a chance to call ahead to Lou."

* * *

><p>Lou surveyed the physical damage done by his other players. He couldn't keep the disdain out of his voice. "Those yahoos did this? That's it! I'm going to the cops. No one else gets hurt!"<p>

Hannibal put a steadying hand on the assistant manager. "Easy, Lou. We'll get 'em. But we want to get the bigger fish, too. In order to do that we've got to let these guys go for a bit."

"Well, they're benched for the rest of the series. Guys like that don't deserve to play, let alone walk free."

"Negative. The last thing we need to do is let these guys know we're on to them," Hannibal stated firmly. "You use them in the lineup however you would've."

"That goes double for me," Murdock asserted.

Lou sighed regretfully. "I'm sorry, Murdock. Boy, am I sorry. You're a helluva a pitcher - better than I would've dreamed - but I'd never put a guy in as banged up as you are."

"Gimme one of those cortisone shots. I can do it. I know I can! C'mon, put me in coach," Murdock pleaded, utilizing those puppy dog eyes.

The assistant manager appraised the determined man sitting before him. "We can do the shot, and you can suit up. This is still a playoff game, though. I'll have to give it some serious thought."

Face begged his CO with his eyes not to risk Murdock's health and safety, but one of Hannibal's few weaknesses was, in fact, the subject of their discussion. He could never really deny him anything. It was as if he were physically incapable of saying 'no' to him. "Alright. Face, go with him. BA and I will scout the entrances. Tony is bound to show up for this one with his backer in tow. You two can keep tabs on the felonious four."

Face blew out a frustrated puff of air that was juxtaposed with Murdock's cheer of victory. His friend's elation should have dampened his concern, but instead the sense of foreboding in his gut was growing.

* * *

><p>"BA, get the guns and the radios out of the van. Take a radio to Face," Hannibal instructed. "I want to have everything in place before the crowd starts showing up. I'm going to case the layout of this ballpark."<p>

"Right, Hannibal." BA disappeared around the corner and quickly made his way to his beloved van. He efficiently removed the weapons and stowed them in a nondescript duffel bag. He grabbed some ammunition and a few grenades for good measure. Satisfied with his procurements, he carefully picked up the radios and placed them in his pocket. He took extra care with the special one he had secretly been working on for Murdock.

BA easily lifted the supplies over his shoulder and began the long trek into the clubhouse. He followed the maze of hallways deeper into the sub-basement below the ballpark. That's where he could first hear the voices echoing back to him.

"Did you make the switch, Daryl?"

"Yeah, Randy. Just like he wanted. Got the merchandise in the practice equipment right here, ready for pickup."

"Give it to me. I'll stash it in the bus as planned. All he'll have to do is walk on and switch the bags. Then we're set for life."

The maniacal laughter bounced off the walls and assaulted BA's ears. He had to restrain himself from going right then and there to take those two out, but he knew Hannibal would want to let the merchandise go long enough to trap the top tier of this pyramid.

Randy walked by the corner BA was hiding behind. The duffel bag he was carrying was bulging and clearly weighed down by more than just standard baseball equipment. BA may have had to let him go, but as soon as Randy was a safe distance away, he went after the other lackey.

The element of surprise was on his side as he confronted Daryl. "Try to run and I'll strike you out, sucka!"

Daryl's eyes widened with fear as BA's fist closed around his collar. BA dragged him through the hallway and shoved him roughly into a storage locker. He made short work of securing his limbs and gagging him, padlocking the door shut for extra security. The radio crackled to life before he even had a chance to think about letting Hannibal know what had just happened. "BA! Come in."

"Right here, Hannibal."

"Guess which big fish just showed up with our greasy guppy?" Even the radio could not filter out the Jazz-like excitement laced through his voice. "Jimmy the Jumper!"

"The Jumper?"

"Yeah, aka Jimmy Di Amante. They call him The Jumper because he jumps from continent to continent and sets a new racket in each location. No one can ever catch him because he never stays in one place for too long. Now he's on our front step. Neat, huh?"

BA just shook his head. "Jus' be on the lookout for Randy. I saw Daryl give him a bag that he gonna be puttin' on the bus. It's got the diamonds in it. Looks like it going down now, man."

Hannibal's tone turned serious. "10-4, BA. I'll keep my eyes peeled. What about Daryl?"

BA let out an irritated sound from the back of his throat. "He locked in the storage closet. He ain't no threat. You want me back up there wit you?"

"Not yet. Go ahead and give the stuff to Face and Murdock as planned. They need to be armed and kept in the loop, too. Then double time it back up here," Hannibal instructed.

"Roger that, Hannibal."

As BA's radio fell silent, he scooped up his bag and made his way to the end of the corridor. Muffled voices came from behind the closed door. He rapped sharply three times then entered without waiting for a response. He regretted not waiting when he saw a long needle piercing the skin above Murdock's right shoulder.

BA inwardly winced in sympathy as he looked at the pilot, his set jaw and closed eyes the only indication of the pain he was truly in. The doctor murmured an apology and rattled off a few instructions before exiting the room.

Face was the first to break the silence. "So what's up, BA?"

"It's going down now, man. Hannibal up there keeping track of things. Tony showed up with some dude named Jimmy the Jumper." BA was pulling things out of the bag as he spoke. "Randy on his way up there, too. He got the goods."

"Jimmy the Jumper," Face echoed. "Isn't that the big mob guy that keeps popping up in different countries? The one no one can nail because they don't know where he's going to turn up next?"

"The very one. Jimmy Di Amante," Murdock agreed then gave a soft laugh. He answered Face's inquiring glance. "Roughly translated, Di Amante means diamond in Italian."

Face and BA shared a look. It shouldn't be surprising by now just how many languages Murdock knew, but somehow it always was. "Anyway, does Hannibal have a plan?"

BA nodded. "Told me to give this stuff to you. Then I'll join him upstairs to help him. Already took care of Daryl."

Murdock and Face tucked the weapons in various places of concealment on their bodies. Face wired himself, hiding the radio under his clothing and under his hair. Murdock picked up the two odd objects and let them dangle from his fingers. He raised his eyebrows questioningly.

"That's your radio man. Made 'em to look like two hearing aides. Thought it'd make the most sense and no one'd question it."

"Pretty smart, big guy."

BA looked away, embarrassed by the compliment. He quickly tested the equipment and gathered his weapons to meet Hannibal. Face walked him to the door. "Thanks, BA. We'll hold the fort down on the field."

"No problem, Faceman. Jus' take care of the Foo'.

* * *

><p>Hannibal rocked back on his heels, keeping one eye on Tony and Jimmy and the other eye out for BA. He adjusted the sound equipment and honed in on their conversation.<p>

"It'll be here anytime, Jimmy. I promise." The nervous titter in the voice was easily picked up by the microphones.

BA appeared at the far end of the lot. Hannibal waved him over silently and motioned for him to stay down. For a man his size, BA could be surprisingly quiet and agile. He was next to the Colonel in record time.

"Yeah, well it better be. You're in this pretty deep. I've been covering ya, but now I came to collect. And if I don't get what I came for..." There was no need to expand with a specific threat for what was left unsaid implied a fate far worse than could be put into words.

"Alright. Alright. You'll get it. Let me see what's keeping him."

Tony wandered off as Jimmy shrugged disinterestedly and lit a cigarette. Hannibal motioned for BA to stick with Jimmy as he pulled out his weapon. Using the parked vehicles for cover, he duck-walked all the way to the stadium. Hannibal waited until Tony was fully down the ramp and inside the ballpark before he followed him in.

There was something to be said for the element of surprise. Clearing his throat, Hannibal summoned up his best 'Clarence Wickersham III' voice. "Now, Tony. You wouldn't be trying to run off with my money on a fair and square bet, would you?"

Tony barked out a mocking laugh and continued on without turning around.

When that tactic failed, Hannibal cocked the hammer of his gun. "Well, if you don't want to hear what Mr. Wickersham has to say, maybe you'll listen to Mr. Smith and Wesson." The sound caused the smaller man to freeze in his tracks and raise his arms. "That's it. Turn around nice and easy."

Hannibal kept one hand on his gun and patted the man down with his other hand. Satisfied Tony wasn't carrying, he pushed him forward. "Move it, slimeball!"

"Where're we going?"

"That's for me to know and you to find out," Hannibal teased.

* * *

><p>Both Face and Murdock could hear Hannibal over the open transmission, but their attention was focused on the pair huddled on the pitcher's mound deep in conversation, fielding gloves shielding their mouths from any probing eyes. The two Team members shared a knowing look. Face signed his intention and disappeared down the steps into the dugout.<p>

"Hannibal," Face whispered into his receiver.

"Go ahead, Face."

"The natives are getting restless down here. They're starting to wonder where the other half of them are. Any chance of wrapping this up soon?"

There was a pause on the other end. Before a response could be formulated, BA's voice broke in. "Jimmy's on his way in. Dude's tired of waiting and he's mad."

"Stay on him, BA. Any sign of Randy from either of you?" Hannibal words were short and clipped. Time was becoming a factor.

"Not out here, man. I'll check on my way in," BA replied.

"Negative on the field." Face's tone reflected the mounting tension.

"Alright, Face. I'm coming down."

Face heard him, but was distracted by the two men advancing on Murdock. He stepped out of the dugout, poised to come to his friend's defense as he heard an angry voice shout, "Hey, dummy! I'm talking to you!"

Murdock remained tight-lipped and unrattled by the taunting which only infuriated the man more. "I thought you had learned your lesson. Obviously, you need to be retaught."

"Cool it, Johnny," Dicky put up an arm to restrain him.

"No, man. Our friends are missing, and I bet this freak has something to do with it." Johnny broke free and gave Murdock a hard shove. The sharp assault to his ribs and shoulder was overwhelming. The pilot let a grunt escape before he could bite it back.

"Well, well, well. What else are you hiding?"

Face hurried forward, but one of the other players beat him to it. Paul drew his hand into a fist and sent it flying into Johnny's face, knocking him out cold. "God, that felt great. I've been wanting to do that to that jerk for a long time," he admitted as he shook out his hand.

The rest of the team converged on Dicky, surrounding him on the raised earth of the mound. Everyone was so caught up in the commotion on the field that no one noticed the man walk onto the field wielding a gun until the shots ricocheted off the empty seats.

"Now that I have your full attention, get down and kiss the dirt." When no one made any attempt to move, Jimmy took target practice on the outfield wall. "Do it! Now! Or the next time it'll be game over...for all of you!"

He strutted through the field of prone bodies, prodding each one with his gun. "I'm looking for one of your teammates. Randy Jacobs. He seems to have taken off with something very, very important to me. And if I don't find it...well, you're all going to die."

From up above, Hannibal could see what was going down. He didn't have time to wonder what happened to BA as he literally almost ran into him. BA was groaning and holding his head. "Are you okay? What happened?" Hannibal's fingers prodded the injured areas of his face.

"I dunno, man. I was followin' him. He must have got wise to me and caught me by surprise."

"You sure you're okay?" BA nodded his assent. "Okay, go get Daryl and bring him to the field. We're going to have a little team reunion."

BA took off as Hannibal continued to shove Tony down to the field level. "Uh, excuse me, Jimmy. I think I have someone here that can enlighten you," Hannibal called out as he descended down the steps of the lower level seats. He let his eyes roam until he spotted his men and gave an imperceptible nod of his head that he was sure they understood.

"Oh yeah? Who's that?" Jimmy acknowledged him, but refused to turn his back on his hostages.

"I think your man Tony here has a lot of explaining to do. Go on, Tony. Tell him why you only bought two one-way tickets to Taihiti - one for you and one for Randy."

Jimmy whipped around as Hannibal stepped onto the field with his prisoner in tow. "Why you dirty, double-crossing-"

"Now, Face!"

Face leapt up and dropped both arms onto Jimmy's wrist, effectually knocking the gun out of his hand. He followed up by a blow to the gut, and then kicked the gun away. Hannibal picked it up and tucked it into the waistband of his pants. BA came right behind him dragging Daryl by the collar. He discarded him in a heap on the ground.

"Thank goodness you two showed up," Face said with relief. "Things were getting a little out of hand. BA, you're hurt."

BA waved a dismissive hand. "Ain't nothing."

The players were slowly rising from their positions on the ground and dusting themselves off. Most had a dazed air about them as if they weren't sure what exactly had just transpired. It didn't getting any less confusing when another shot rang out from above and they were sent diving back into the dirt. A second shot kept them there.

"Where did that come from, man?" BA covered his head while looking for the origins of the shots.

Sound was deceptive in an empty stadium. Loud noises echoed and bounced off the empty seats, seeming to come from any number of places. It was Murdock who first spotted the glint of sun off metal high in the upperdeck above homeplate. Face recognized the steely look that turned his best friend's face into a cold and angry mask. He put up a hand to hold him back. "I'll go."

Murdock flicked his darkened eyes towards Face. "No, I'm going after the bastard myself. I owe him one."

The internal struggle was illustrated on the outside as Face relented, knowing he would've needed to do the same if the situation was reversed. As Face's hand fell from the shoulder of his best friend, he gave it a supportive squeeze. Murdock hesitated briefly at the contact, then took off, vaulting gracefully onto the top of the dugout. He sprinted up the aisle and made a mad dash for the ramp that would lead him onto the loge level.

Only moments ago, everything was coming together as planned. Hannibal felt his nerves fraying. Randy had become such a wildcard, he couldn't predict what he would do next. Although he knew Murdock had to be the one to bring this particular dog in, he didn't have to collar him alone. "Go help him, BA!"

Face oscillated between irritated and relieved. He wanted Murdock to have backup, but he'd be lying if he said he wasn't concerned for his friend's safety. Murdock was far from one hundred percent, and Face didn't discount that, in a moment of weakness, he might be overtaken. Face shot BA a look before BA ran after him. BA gave the slightest nod. He would only interfere if absolutely necessary. All Face could do was wait with baited breath as he kept the gun trained on the thieving players.

* * *

><p>Murdock stopped to rest for a minute at the top of the ramp. The burning in his side was blossoming into a raging inferno. Once he regained a little bit of his breath, he drew his weapon and tentatively stepped out from behind the cover of the concrete pillar.<p>

He stood listening to the silence for quite awhile. It carried a heaviness laden with anticipation. Randy was either already gone or the quietest bad guy he had every come across. It was decidedly the latter as Murdock once more saw the sunlight reflect off the muzzle of the gun. Randy was moving laterally into the section directly across from the ramp. It was clear he was going to make a break for it.

Murdock moved forward to the head of the aisle, trapping Randy between himself and the wall barrier. "Freeze! Strike one, Randy!" The sudden use of his voice stopped the other man in mid-step. "That's right. Turn around and put the gun and the diamonds down...or I'll turn you into a human sprinkler. NOW!"

Randy bent at the knees and slowly placed first the duffel bag and then the gun on the concrete steps. Murdock advanced on him menacingly, holding the gun out in front of him at arm's length. All the pent-up frustration of the last few days was leaking out and it took quite a bit of self control not to put just a _little_ more pressure on the trigger.

"I figured you for a plant all along," Randy sneered. "I guess I shouldn't be surprised that you're not really deaf."

Murdock never stopped moving as Randy spoke. He kicked the gun to the side so hard it clattered off the seats in the next section. "Strike two!"

The cold, hollow smile on the pilot's face was enough of an incentive to send the other man searching for a means of escape. The railing was now digging into his back and his desperation was growing. The cool, steel muzzle of the gun began pressing into his flesh. "Strike three! Yer-"

Before Murdock could finish, he had the breath knocked out of him by a well placed fist to the ribs. Randy took the opportunity to grab the diamonds and run. Murdock chastised himself for getting too close to his mark and forced himself into a quick recovery.

He bounded after the other man, leaping and hurdling the cheap plastic seats. Using the strength in his legs, Murdock sprung off the seat and went sailing through the air, successfully tackling Randy.

The two men were in a tangled heap on the dirty floor. Murdock could feel his strength waning as he rolled off the other man, searching for his gun that had fallen loose. Suddenly he felt himself lifted, bent backwards over the railing.

His special radio that BA had made so carefully for him dislodged and went falling end over end. It smashed into hundreds of small pieces on the field below. Murdock had never been afraid of heights, but he was now beginning to realize just how high up he truly was. That realization allowed him to draw on his diminishing reserves and stand up just a little straighter.

Murdock was so focused on Randy's hand pushing against his throat that he never even saw it coming. The bag hit the side of his head with a jarring force, knocking him off balance. A wave of dizziness overtook him. One final push from Randy sent him toppling over the railing.

Some innate survival instinct must have kicked in. Even with the blinding dizziness and all-consuming pain in his shoulder and ribs and head, he was able to reach out quickly and grab onto the railing at the last second with both hands. The yank it caused to his upper extremities as his fall was suddenly halted elicited a cry of agony, but still he held on.

Murdock could feel his fingers being pried loose as he dangled dangerously above the field. He squeezed his hands tighter around the cool metal as he clawed at the cement with his foot, trying to gain purchase. The extreme physical exertion and blow to the head were causing his vision to swim out of focus. There was an odd, distant ringing in his ears as the world became coated in a gray film. It was no surprise that when he first heard the voice, he wasn't entirely sure it was real.

"Hang on, Foo'! I'm coming! Jus' hang on!"

Murdock heard the scuffle above him. He knew help was close. So close. He tried to hold on, he really did. The sweat was pouring off him in rivers now and his fingers were sliding despite his efforts to defy gravity. His body was so heavy, too heavy. His arms ached so badly, and his head...

Murdock struggled to cling to consciousness - to cling to the railing - so desperately. He fought with every last ounce of energy he had, but it was a losing battle. The last thing he saw was BA's face appearing above him like some mirage in the desert. His fingers slipped free...and he fell.


	7. Chapter 7

_I know it's been awhile since I updated. I struggled with this part, not knowing quite what I wanted to do with it. It's finally finished so I hope you all enjoy. Thanks for being so patient_ :)

Five weeks. Five long, silent, agonizing weeks. Thirty-five daily trips to the chapel before spending another endless day waiting, hoping, praying for some sign of life. The calender pages continued to turn, the clock hands never ceased their circular rhythm, but right here in this room, time stood still. There was no change.

'No change'. Face had come to abhor the very phrase. It meant the absence of progress, the absence of noise or of movement of any kind, the absence of life itself...the absence of _Murdock_.

Face could not prevent the events from replaying in his mind like some dark, twisted tape on a loop. Sometimes it was in painstakingly slow motion. Sometimes it sped up to the point of fast forwarding. No matter what the speed of his memories, the result was always the same, landing them right back into this sterile bubble of 'no change'.

Even the damn machines sounded the same. The respirator hissed every six seconds as the iv pump maintained its constant hum, ticking every two point three seconds. He ought to know as he had timed both of them out on numerous occasions. The heart monitor never varied, either. Although, for this he supposed he was grateful. But he would take an aberration in the normal pattern of beeping if Murdock would just...wake...up.

Face left his station against the window and crossed over to the chair next to the bed, sitting down wearily. Sliding his hand into that of his best friend's, he bent the arm upwards at the elbow, lifting it off the bed. He traced and retraced the iv line with his finger, almost hypnotized by the movement. The skeletal appearance of the arm did not deter him, nor did its coolness. Murdock was a very tactile person who needed a human touch like the air he breathed. There was very little that Face could do for him, but he could do this.

Hannibal was less adept at the physicalities. It wasn't that he shunned contact altogether, it was just in his nature as a leader to be a little more reserved. BA was surprisingly more willing to be demonstrative if one of them was hurt or in pain, but at this time the guilt was eating him up inside. He just couldn't get it through his thick, mohawked head that there was nothing he could have done to prevent the current circumstances. Murdock was already in a free fall, a prisoner of the laws of gravity, by the time BA reached the railing.

Face closed his eyes against his anguish, reliving the waking nightmare once again:

_The top tier jutted out over the field making it difficult to catch anything but brief glimpses of Murdock as the two men grappled. Murdock's top half reappeared suddenly, dangling perilously over the railing. Always a leader, Hannibal sprung into immediate action, preparing for all contingencies as he barked orders to the men on the field. Emotion superceded all of Face's Special Forces training and froze him where he stood._

_A foreign object shattered into a hundred tiny fragments on the field, but Face paid the destruction no heed. His gaze was locked onto Murdock's struggling form. Face was as caught by surprise at the bag to the side of the pilot's head as Murdock was. _

_It happened so quickly. One minute Murdock was teetering against the concrete barrier, trying to regain his balance, and the next he was swinging through the air, hanging on for dear life. Chaos reigned on the field as players grabbed whatever they could at Hannibal's urgent directions to cushion the seemingly inevitable fall. Yet, Face remained paralyzed with fear and disbelief. He couldn't fathom the scene playing out before him. His role was relegated to that of spectator as he could only stand helpless, merely a witness to the horrific events unfolding._

_Choking terror overtook him as Murdock slipped and his hands were ripped free from safety. Murdock was falling, plummeting through the air, one arm beseechingly outstretched towards the rafters. BA's face thrust over the railing, horror filling his usually angry features as he realized he was just a split second too late._

_There was a sickening thud as body met dirt. The netting that had been ripped down from behind home plate in a desperate attempt to provide a safety net, tragically, did not hold. A guttural yell erupted from BA, finally breaking Face from his paralysis. Heart in his stomach, he ran over to the battered and bleeding figure, oblivious to the calls for help. In a blind panic, he ignored the sensible pleas to wait for an ambulance._

_The form was so still, a broken down doll discarded on the ground. Afraid of what he might discover, Face knelt down hesitantly, trying to remove the remnants of netting from around his friend's airway. The breaths he heard were uneven and raspy, but they were there. Amazingly the eyes were slightly open. "F-F-Fa-"_

"_Nonononono, Murdock. Don't try to talk." Face laid a gentle hand on his friend's cheek, as much to steady his shaking hand as to comfort Murdock. His hand landed in something wet and sticky, fingertips inadvertently brushing a sensitive area. Murdock tried to move away from the sudden increase in pain. Face placed a restraining hand on his friend's chest, but it was unnecessary. Murdock was too weak and shattered to move in any purposeful way._

_A whimper escaped from Murdock's bloodless lips as he became more aware of the assault to his body and the resulting frailty. The sound tore Face's stoic facade apart. He blinked hard to soothe his burning eyes. Red fingerprints danced into focus in front of his eyes as he opened them again, dotting the front of the white uniform where Face had touched it. He moved his hand back up to his friend's cheek, trying and failing to avoid the blood trickling from Murdock's ears. The blood was starting to pool behind his head, matting the wild, brown hair. Face's gut twisted painfully, understanding what that meant. He whispered encouraging words to the pilot. "Help is on the way. Just hang on."_

_Murdock's eyes widened and his breaths hitched in his chest as they increased to desperate pants. Face immediately became alarmed as he erroneously assumed it was due to the grievous injuries - until he followed Murdock's gaze upwards. BA held Randy above his head, his ominous intention glaringly clear. "Don't...don't..."_

_It came out in a forced whisper. The voice behind it was thin and breathless, straining to put any power behind it. Murdock rolled pleading eyes towards Face. Understanding passed between the two men. Murdock may not have had the strength to vocalize his protests, but Face did. "BA! Murdock says don't do it!"_

_The use of the pilot's name brought BA to full attention. Hearing that Murdock was awake and could communicate at all stunned him into halting mid-toss. He fought a battle inside between the rage and the vengeance he so badly wanted to inflict and his friend's wishes. As always, Murdock won out in the end. BA knocked Randy out cold and heaved the bag over the side instead, busting it open in the process._

_Diamonds, ripped from the interior of the equipment, were showered upon the field. Face bent his body over Murdock to shield him from the hard pellets raining down. "Pre-pretty." Astonished, Face stared down at him. Murdock implored him to look skyward through drooping lids. Face obeyed. Murdock was right, there was a certain macabre beauty to it._

_When Face turned his attention back to Murdock, those warm, brown eyes were now hidden behind fully closed lids. The panic that he had shoved down was bubbling to the surface."C'mon, Murdock. Stay with me, buddy."_

_At first there was no response, but after a couple of light shakes Murdock's eyelashes fluttered open. He laughed softly. Face didn't know whether to be concerned or amused as Murdock softly broke into song. "BA in the skyyyyy with di-a-monds. BA in the skyyyyy with di-a-monds." The moment of levity was abruptly cut off by an involuntary shiver and a grimace of pain. _

_Face shrugged out of his sports coat and covered Murdock with it, attempting to stave off the deepening shock. He couldn't help smiling despite the grave situation. Leave it to Murdock to find the humor and beauty in even the bleakest of circumstances. "God, I love you, Murdock. Did I ever tell you that? Don't ever change."_

_Murdock rolled his head listlessly from side to the side. Face stopped his movements with his hand, still lain protectively against his cheek. Those chocolate eyes were dilated and unfocused, but for one fleeting second Face saw all the clarity from before the fall. "Love ya too, Facey."_

That was it. Those were the last words Murdock had said to him before he lost his battle with consciousness. He hadn't woken up again. He hadn't even flinched as the paramedics prepared him to be moved, nor when the emergency room doctors worked fervently trying to stabilize him. The numerous tests, procedures, and surgeries had made no visible difference in the state of consciousness. Even the Team's constant vigil elicited no meaningful response.

Face had sat numbly between Hannibal and BA as a parade of doctors had spit out their diagnoses in terminology they barely understood: dislocated right shoulder, multiple rib fractures culminating in a punctured lung, several veterbral fractures, a traumatic skull fracture resulting in an epidural hematoma.

Hannibal had been particularly stricken at the last bit of news, chastising himself for not forcing medical treatment on Murdock sooner. The doctors assured him that the outcome would've been the same, but he wouldn't allow himself to believe them. Face had been with him through war, the POW camps, and betrayal by his fellow countrymen. Never had Face seen him as close to tears as he was the first time Murdock was whisked away to surgery to relieve the pressure on his brain.

BA was no better off. The guilt was eating away at him, devouring him from the inside out. He oscillated between not being able to even look in Murdock's direction to hovering over him like a mother hen.

As for Face, he forced himself to see and hear everything that was happening to Murdock, no matter how personally painful it was. What he couldn't bear was when the doctors shifted their focus from aggressive treatment to speaking in hushed tones, using words like 'institution' and 'permanent state' and 'withdrawing life support'. He adamantly refused to believe that. The unexplainable, almost otherworldly connection the pair shared remained unbroken. Face could feel it still there like an invisible tether, one that he wouldn't allow to be prematurely severed. If Murdock couldn't fight for himself, then Face would take the battle upon himself if it came to that.

BA entered the room, breaking him out of the horrific memories. "Any change?"

Face cringed. "No. No change," he said bitterly.

* * *

><p>In a rare convergence of circumstances, all three members of the Team were congregated in Murdock's room. Lou had requested to stop by and visit with Murdock and give them all some good news. Even the promise of good news did nothing to lift the melancholy mood. The three men sat in silence awaiting the arrival of the assistant manager.<p>

The door opened slowly. Lou's presence was a welcome distraction from the palpable tension. They greeted him half-heartedly.

After a few minutes of small talk, Lou cut to the chase. "I wanted to give you guys an update. I'm sure you're reading the papers, but I thought you all would appreciate hearing it in person." He stole a glance at Murdock and then turned his attention back to the Team. "Tony turned state's evidence and only got a dime in the slammer, but because of him Jimmy's getting put away for a good long while. Tony ratted Jimmy out - told the authorities about how Jimmy used him as a cover to get the diamonds and hide them in the bases for when he got ready to move them."

"I gotta admit, it was pretty ingenious hiding the diamonds in plain sight. What better place to hide diamonds than on the biggest diamond of them all?" Hannibal may not have approved of the operation, but he couldn't suppress his admiration of a brilliant idea.

"Anyway," Lou continued, "Jimmy's getting a good twenty years to come up with another racket. So I guess congratulations are in order. I hear he's not the first mob henchman to be sent up river by you guys."

Hannibal was visibly pleased, but he was more interested in the other four, particularly the scum that might cost them all more than they were willing to pay. Lou seemed to read his mind. "Dicky, Daryl, and Johnny all got convicted of multiple counts of armed robbery and assault. They have about thirty to forty years to cool their heels. And Randy..."

"Go on," Hannibal urged.

"You'll be happy to know that not only did he get sent up on the armed robbery and assault charges, but based on the testimony of my players, he was also found guilty of attempted murder. They gave him the maximum sentence - life without parole."

Justice had been served swiftly and harshly. It should have been cause for celebration, but the mood was somber. BA put a voice to what they were all feeling. "Life in jail's too good for 'im. It don't give the Fool - Murdock- a reprieve from his sentence."

"BA's right," Hannibal agreed. "I like to see garbage put in the proper receptacles as much as anybody, but somehow it doesn't give me any satisfaction this time around."

"No, I suppose it doesn't." Lou looked apologetic. "I owe all you guys, Murdock especially, more than you know. Not only did you guys give the game of baseball back its good name and take some rotten scum off the street, but I'm being promoted. I'm getting sent to the majors. I'd like to take Murdock with me."

Face knitted his brows together. "What do you mean?"

"C'mon. You'd have to be blind not to see the light in his eyes when he's on the field." Lou was addressing Face directly now. "You know what I'm talking about. You've seen it. I know that look, and it's a look that I see too little of nowadays - pure and unabashed love for the game."

Nodding, Face agreed. "Yeah. Yeah, I do."

"If Murdock gets better-"

BA stiffened and began stepping menacingly towards Lou. "What do you mean 'if', sucka? He gonna get better and no one gonna say any different! Understand?"

Hannibal raised a gloved hand in his Sergeant's direction. "Take it easy, BA. Lou didn't mean anything by it, did you Lou?"

Instead of answering, Lou took something out of his back pocket and approached the bed. He placed the object in Murdock's hand, closing the fingers around it. "When," Lou stressed, "Murdock gets better, there'll be a place on the team for him."

"There's a place on the Team for him. Right here, with us," Hannibal reminded him.

"I know. I'm not trying to take him away from you. It couldn't be anything permanent, but towards the beginning of the season I can sneak him onto the roster without anybody noticing too much. He's good - really, really good. He deserves a chance to play in the majors, if only for a little while. I owe him that much."

The world was shimmering in front of Face's eyes. The tension of the last few months coupled with the touching gesture that Lou extended was almost too much for him. Hannibal started to play devil's advocate, but when he saw his second-in-command's facade start to crack a little, he bit back his words. He merely bobbed his head.

Lou took that as his cue to leave. "I'll be in touch. Thank you, gentleman." He tipped the brim of his hat and slipped out quietly.

As the trio processed all they had heard, one by one they each drifted towards the hospital bed. Curiosity over the mysterious object was dominant now. BA was the first to reach their friend and traced the red stitching on the leather cover. "It's a baseball."

Face reached down to pick it up and study it further. As he began to pluck it from Murdock's hand, the fingers squeezed down on it ever so slightly. "My God! Did you see that?"

"I wouldn't have believed it if I hadn't just seen it myself." The corners of Hannibal's mouth turned up sharply. "Welcome back, Cap'n!"

* * *

><p>The awakening didn't happen all at once like it did in the movies. It was much more gradual. First, there were some subtle movements in Murdock's fingers that extended to his extremities by the second day. By the next day, the breathing tube was successfully removed.<p>

On the fourth day, Murdock's eyes opened just a sliver. They were glassy and unfocused, but they gave the Team a feeling of hope that none of them had felt since this whole nightmare began. The three men didn't intentionally crowd him, but they couldn't stop themselves from peering over the bedrails, reassuring themselves that it was really happening. Murdock was unable to stay awake for more than a few seconds, but they knew their presence was felt by the way his lips turned up slightly at the corners.

There were small, but steady improvements over the next few days. Eventually, Murdock was awake for longer periods and was able to track their movements with his eyes and respond to simple commands. There was enough progress that the doctors felt comfortable in beginning the process of rehabilitation. The muscles had atrophied from disuse, they explained. There was some minor, but reversible brain damage that had been sustained. The doctors stressed what a long and arduous road it would be, and that Murdock would be in charge, along with the doctors at the rehab facility, of his recovery. BA not-so-gently told the medical personnel that HE would be in charge of his friend's physical recovery and if any of them wanted to argue, they could take it up with his fists.

Upon overhearing this Murdock, who had been utterly voiceless up until that point, murmured under his breath, "Mudsucka.." His smirk belayed his mirth.

The big man postured at the nickname and got ready to respond in his usual manner. BA's threat died on his lips though, as he realized what had just happened. It just figured that Murdock's first coherent word would be an insult to him. His scowl turned into a smile. "Got your words back, man."

Murdock's grin faded as he nodded his head. Growing serious, his gaze searched the Sergeant, who averted his eyes under the scrutiny. Recognition blossomed in the warm, chestnut eyes at BA's palpable discomfort. The motivation for the sudden gentleness grew clear. He swallowed hard and concentrated on carefully forming the words. "Okay. Okay?" Murdock patted the arm resting on the bedrail.

No further communication was needed between the two men, who for all their bickering, held a deeper respect and admiration for each other than was realized on the surface. BA knew that Murdock was now fully aware of the internal punishment he had been inflicting upon himself, however misplaced it was. Murdock's simple gesture, denouncing any blame, allowed BA to begin absolving himself of some of the guilt he carried.

"You gonna be okay, Crazyman. I'm gonna help see to that. That's a promise."

* * *

><p>Despite the endless parade of therapists - physical, occupational, speech, and even psychotherapists - the progress seemed to plateau after a few weeks, and Murdock's seemingly endless well of optimism was diminishing rapidly. His speech was almost back to normal, yet the weakness in his arms and legs prevailed. He had yet to stand without significant assistance and was growing increasingly resentful of his crutches and his wheelchair that he occasionally still had to use.<p>

Hannibal thought that the news of Lou's offer would cheer the Captain up and serve as a motivating factor, but it only seemed to depress him further with his current limitations. The Team provided constant support and encouragement, participating in any therapy they could, but the fatigue and frustration were overwhelming him to the point of hindering further recovery.

For this reason, the doctors allowed Murdock to go "home" over Christmas. They had given him a much needed break from the physically and mentally exhausting regimen. Face had had to work fast, and scam a suitable house for the four of them. "Suitable" translated into an open one-floor plan so Murdock could maneuver around without having the added worry of stairs. It also had to be secluded per Hannibal's instructions, and have a garage so BA could park his van.

Somehow Face had managed to pull it all off, and he sat admiring his handiwork. The Christmas decorations were cozy, and the tree was rather impressive. He sighed contentedly, enjoying the quiet crackling of the fire.

Hannibal had meandered off after dinner without explanation, but Face knew of his yearly ritual. There was a certain lady doctor that he was getting reacquainted with via the telephone in the van. BA had retired for the night claiming he was tired from the Christmas Eve festivities, but Face knew it was homesickness that drove him to the solitude of his room.

Face had almost forgotten that he was not alone. Hunched in the corner of the couch, Murdock had been unusually quiet and pensive, especially given his usual exuberance this time of year. A lot had changed in these last few difficult months. No matter how much Face wished his best friend was back to his old self, he knew it would take a whole lot more time and patience before he got there. And there was always the remote possibility nagging at the back of his mind that Murdock may not get any better. Either way, Face was just glad he was here in any form at all. So much more could've been lost.

He studied his friend's utter lack of movement with growing concern. It was clear Murdock was locked inside his own head which was a very dangerous place to be. The pilot's gaze was fixated, unblinking and distant, on the brightly illuminated angel on top of the tree.

Said so softly it was nearly a whisper: "Do you believe in miracles, Face?"

Face jumped, mildly surprised at the broken silence. It was a moment before he could find his voice. He tried to brush off his reaction with a flippant remark. "Yeah, definitely. I think it's kinda a prerequisite in the Catholic handbook."

Murdock whipped his head away from the angel's glow, jaw clenched together. Brown eyes pierced right into the conman's soul. "I'm serious."

Pausing, Face composed his thoughts carefully before he spoke. "Yes, I do. I don't know if it's a result of the teachings or experiences I've had, or a combination of both. I can't explain it, but I do know you're sitting here talking to me when you shouldn't be - several times over. If that's not proof of a miracle, I don't know what is."

Dark eyes flickered up to the angel and back again, hesitation emanating off of him. "I saw my mama, Face."

"Huh?" The conversation turned in an unexpected direction.

"When I was asleep, in the coma...whatever...I saw her. I couldn't even remember what she looked like, I was so young when she died. I haven't seen any pictures since before I went to 'Nam, but somehow - somehow I knew it was her." Murdock was seeing beyond this world into one he had recently visited almost permanently.

Afraid of where this may lead and simultaneously darkly fascinated, Face uncrossed his legs and sat up straighter, angling his body towards the pilot. He wiped cold, clammy hands on his pantleg. "What happened exactly?"

Murdock didn't directly answer him, his thoughts locked into someplace in between this world and the next. "I almost didn't come back, ya know."

Face sucked in a breath, heart plummeting with the revelation. His greatest fear - that Murdock was flirting with death all those weeks- was just confirmed. "You - you didn't?"

Unconsciously, Murdock took off his hat and ran a hand over his head. Face could just make out the fading scar underneath the patches of hair that were just a little shorter and thinner than the rest of the strands. "There was this tremendous sense of peace and tranquility - like nothing I've ever felt before. Not even after the last time I was shot. I was drawn to it. I didn't want it to stop," he admitted to his hands.

"What - what made you decide to come back?" The morbid curiosity was too great a temptress.

"Mama did. Told me she wasn't done bein' my guardian angel yet and to get my butt back down here. Said my work down here wasn't done and that a lot of people were counting on us." Murdock spared a glance at the conman, gauging his reaction.

"And you actually listened?" Face was incredulous. Murdock was a free spirit and would not, under any circumstances, do anything that he didn't want to do. He doubted that would have changed no matter what plane of existence Murdock occupied. Face sent a quick prayer of thanks to God and a woman he never met for leading Murdock back to them.

"What was I supposed to say? She gave me life once already and was telling me to take it back.. Just like a true mom, she practically guilted me into it. She said it was my choice, but I don't think it was really. " Murdock sighed and snapped the cap back on his head. "There I was, looking down on myself, thinking I must be crazy to go back. I was home free, and now - now...I'm like I am."

"You'll get there, Murdock. You will," Face needed to make Murdock believe it, even though he had had the same thoughts earlier that evening. His best friend had always been not only a survivor, but a fighter. Murdock was nothing if not resilient.

"I don't know this time, Faceman," Murdock said defeated. As if to emphasize his point, he struggled up from the couch, leaning heavily on his crutches. He tried to take a step and nearly fell. Face was at his side in an instant. The sadness reflected back at him nearly tore him apart. "I think two miracles are too much to hope for this time."

Murdock shrugged off the physical support Face tried to offer so he tried another tactic. But somehow, the gift of words that had served him so well in the past, only seemed trite and empty now. "Have faith, Murdock. After all, isn't that what this day is all about?"

"Maybe so." Murdock moved agonizingly slowly towards the bedroom, making a rhythmic clicking and dragging sound with each step. It tugged at the conman's heart strings to see his friend in his current state. "Face?"

The Lieutenant swallowed around the lump that had suddenly sprung up in the back of his throat. He couldn't let Murdock see how affected he was by his condition or just how alarming their talk had been. "Yeah?"

"Despite everything, all the heartache, I'm glad I listened to her." There was a ghost of a sheepish smile on his lips that faded quickly away. It wasn't quite as convincing as it was meant to be.

"Murdock, you here, is the best Christmas present I could've ever asked for." Face willed his voice not to break. "Merry Christmas, buddy!"

"Merry Christmas, Facey!"

* * *

><p>After much deliberation and discussion, Murdock decided not to return to the rehab facility. The Team fully supported him and BA was secretly thrilled that his offer of being Murdock's personal trainer was accepted. It gave him something constructive to focus on instead of standing passively by.<p>

Hannibal had dealt with the inactivity as best as he could. He paced a lot, smoked some cigars, set up a perimeter, and then paced some more. No matter how restless he got, he reminded himself it was in Murdock's best interests to remain here so he could focus on getting stronger instead of being moved from place to place.

Face had felt similarly. He bit his tongue, when on more than one occasion, BA and Murdock had engaged in an indoor game of catch on a series stormy days. The first time Face had started to admonish them, BA had growled at him and told him in so many words it would loosen up Murdock's shoulder and strengthen his throwing arm so he could keep his whining to himself. After the initial indignation, Face had acknowledged that BA was right, and kept his mouth shut from then on.

On BA's part, he devoured anything and everything ever written about physical therapies. All the energy he had previously put into fixing his van which now sat largely untouched, he now focused on Murdock. BA was fiercely determined to get his friend back physically to where he was before the fall. Even though he had let go of some of the guilt, every time Murdock came into the room it reemerged with a vengeance.

Despite BA's - and Murdock's - best efforts, they had come to virtually a standstill. Hope was leaking out of Murdock a little each day like the air being let out of a balloon. It was as if they could literally see his spirit deflate. Disheartened and despondent, he became more withdrawn with each day that yielded little progress.

On the first morning of the fourth week, it reached a critical level as BA tried to rouse him out of bed just before dawn like he always did. "Get up, Fool. Ain' got time for this. Gotta get to work."

Murdock threw the blankets over his head. His reply came out low and muffled. "Whatsa point, BA? It ain't gettin' any better and it ain't gonna."

"Not with dat attitude it won't, Fool. So get up!" When Murdock failed to give a response of any sort, BA roughly yanked the covers down. He was bemused to find a fully clothed Murdock, jacket and all.

"Jus'...not today, Big Guy. I jus'...I need a break, okay? I can't do it." The fatigue was evident in his voice. "I'm tired."

"Tired? We jus' getting started. C'mon, get up!" BA reached for Murdock's shoulders to pull him up into a sitting position

Murdock, in a display contrary to his nature, angrily slapped BA's hands away. "Yes! Tired! Can't you understand that? Jus' leave me alone. It's done. I'm done."

"You a lot of things, Crazyman, but I never figured ya for a quitter."

"I ain't quitting," Murdock shouted, the ongoing argument drawing Hannibal and Face into the room.

"Well, that's what it looks like to me." BA shook his head, disgusted. "Here I was, believin' you could do it. Shoulda told me I was jus' wastin' my time if you was jus' gonna give up."

Murdock sat up and swung his legs over the edge of the bed. "I ain't giving up!"

BA took a threatening step towards Murdock and, being as physically imposing as he could, leaned down until his face was inches from the pilot's "Yeah? What do you call it? I thought you had some guts, but I was wrong. You ain't brave. You ain't strong. You ain't tough. You weak. You a quitter. You're a coward."

BA rose up to his full height, and started to walk away, but was stopped by Murdock who had two tight fistfuls of BA's shirt. Furious, Murdock pushed himself up on shaky legs and got right up in BA's face. "You take that back!"

Face made a move to intervene, but Hannibal blocked him with his hand.

"No!" BA tore Murdock's hands off his shirt and backed away.

The icy, cold fire of anger was blazing in Murdock's eyes. "You take that back. You Big. Mean. Ugly. Mudsucka!"

Without realizing it, Murdock had closed the distance between them, unsupported. He was still trembling, both with the effort and the rage. BA just giggled and pointed at Murdock's feet. Murdock's eyes widened in wonderment as it dawned on him what had just happened. As

the anger left him so did his balance, and he stumbled forward right into BA's arms. He quickly righted himself while hanging onto BA.

"I knew ya didn't mean it, big teddy bear-type guy." In true Murdock fashion, he embraced the bigger man and showered exuberant kisses all over him like an unrestrained puppy.

"Get off me, Fool!"

Face and Hannibal grinned at each other. "Things are really getting back to normal, aren't they, kid?"

"Normal? What's normal," Face postulated as he met Murdock's eyes. He held up a couple of fingers for the pilot to see and mouthed the word, "Two."

Murdock knitted his brows together, puzzled. Face folded his hands in front of him and looked skyward, then back at Murdock again. "Miracles," he mouthed again.

Comprehension lit up the brown eyes. They danced in merriment as Murdock nodded his head and winked at Face. That's when Face knew it really was going to be alright.

* * *

><p>The crowd buzzed with excitement, random cheers erupting at the pre-game activity on the field. The air was ripe with the scent of Springtime and freshly cut grass. A spirit of renewed hope electrified the atmosphere. Flags snapped in the wind high atop the bowl-shaped structure, backlit by the bright lights.<p>

Murdock bounded enthusiastically up the steps with Face close on his heels. The pilot had almost literally been bouncing off the walls waiting for this moment to arrive. It was all Face could do to get him to put on his regulation uniform and get him up to the field in time to have a brief meeting with Lou before the start of the game.

The manager spotted the pair first and made his way across the perfectly manicured field. Face extended a hand towards him. "How ya doing, Lou?"

"Pretty good. Nervous as hell, actually. You guys ready for tonight?"

Murdock stood, taking it all in, oblivious to the people around him. He wore the gaping expression of a wide-eyed child on Christmas morning. It took a well placed elbow to the ribs from Face to awaken him from his spellbound state. "Huh? Oh yeah. Yeah!" Murdock grabbed Lou's hand and pumped it up and down. "I can't tell you how much this means to me. I can't thank you enough."

"No, Murdock. Thank you! This doesn't even begin to make up for all you guys did for me and the team...and everything you went through. I owe you big."

With a dismissive wave of his hand, Murdock warded off the praise. He started to voice his gratitude once again, but was cut off by the beginning strains of the National Anthem. All three men placed their hats over their hearts and watched as a giant American flag was unfurled over the field. It was a breathtaking sight up close, and it was a shame Hannibal and BA were up in the seats, unable to witness it ringside. Face stole a quick glance at Murdock and saw him blinking furiously, trying to stem the emotion welling up inside. That was all it took to send Face over the edge, his vision blurring.

"Play ball!" The umpire bellowed from his position behind home plate. The crowd exploded with cheers and applause.

"Time to get out to the bullpen guys," Lou instructed. "I'll call out there when I need you."

"You got it!" Murdock shoved the team hat back on his head, adjusting it a few times. Glove in hand, he trotted out to the bullpen without waiting to see if Face followed. Face's usual annoyance was dampened by the mood on the field. He obediently trailed behind.

The pair went through three packs of sunflower seeds and five sticks of gum between them while watching the game. Murdock couldn't stop fidgeting, his nerves starting to get the better of him. Just when Face thought he would be unable to take anymore, the phone rang loudly. The two men looked at each other, shocked. They knew it was inevitable that the call would come, but the arrival of the moment still seemed surreal.

Face went over to stop the ringing of the phone. After what seemed like an eternity, Face placed it back in its cradle and turned back to Murdock. "You're up."

Half of Murdock's face was taken up by his wide grin. "You mean it?"

Nodding, Face accepted the warm-up jacket Murdock had slipped off. Murdock's hands were shaking so badly that he almost couldn't grip the ball. He willed his hands to still as he threw a few warm-up pitches.

The second summoning call came only a few minutes after the first. Murdock stood up a little straighter and marched confidently toward the gate leading out to the field. He was more than ready. He had been waiting a lifetime for this.

"Wait!" Face placed a hand on Murdock's arm and pulled something out of his jacket with the other hand. "You might need this."

"It's not regulation, Faceman."

"I think just this once, it'll be okay. Lou'll understand."

Murdock accepted it into his hands. He turned it over and over reverently, marveling at its significance. That piece of clothing had passed through three generations of his family, including himself. And it had traveled to another country and back, one of the few things he had that came through the war - and his childhood - intact. It was the last tangible link to his family he possessed. "Thank you, Facey. I mean it. I - I-"

"I know, buddy. Now go out there and show them what you got."

Murdock smiled and threw the team hat on the bench. He placed the navy blue baseball cap on his head as he trotted past Face onto the field. Each step took him closer and closer to realizing his lifelong dream. When his cleats hit the hard packed earth of the mound, he nearly jumped out of his skin with joy.

The tall, lanky man secured his glove and turned the baseball over and over in his hand, enjoying the gritty feel of the dirt rubbing against his palm. He leaned over and studied the signs from the catcher as he fingered the red stitching. He shook off one sign and then the next one. Finally, his pitch had arrived. Murdock tugged at the brim of his hat, letting go to wind up for the pitch, contorting his body into impossible angles as he pushed off the rubber and let the ball sail free. "This one's for you, Mama."

**The End**


End file.
